
AMES K. O'CONNOR 



PS 3529 
.C55 Z6 
1913 

copv ^ fjis VOICE AND PEN" 




Class .r^^Sa^ 
Book ^ 



GoppghlN" 




COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




JAMES K. O'CONNOR 



JAMES K. O'CONNOR 

—His Voice and Pen 



Being a Collection of 

Addresses, Speeches, Newspaper 

Articles, Etc., Emanating 

FROM THE Above 

Source. 




compiled by his DAUGHTER 

MARGARET M. O'CONNOR 

Nineteen-Thirteen 



published by 

Davis' Union Printery 

Third Avenue at lOTth Street 

New York 



T5 3^'^''^ 



C^^,'m3 






±s 



Copyright, 1913 
By MARGARET M. O'CONNOR 



TO MY BROTHER 

JOHN BARRY O'CONNOR 

In the hope that he, too, some day, may thrill 
listening audiences with his voice and expressed 
thoughts, this volume is lovingly dedicated. 

— M. M. O'C. 



g FOREWORD g 




Upon one occasion my father had delivered an address which 
was particularly well received, and of which the newspapers spoke 
highly. A few nights thereafter, a caller at the house mentioned 
it in glowing terms, and chatted likewise of other addresses prev- 
iously delivered. This friend asked of father why he did not 
compile and edit his speeches and writings, to which the reply 
was given that a great many of them had been lost or destroyed 
and no attempt had ever been made to retain copies. 

The result of the conversation was that I was told that some 
day I could compile the contents of this volume, and after that 
date we saved most of the products of my father's voice and pen. 

The title may sound strange, but I use it because it is his selec- 
tion. When he made the race for Congress in 1906, against the 
late Vice-President Sherman, some of the supporters of the latter 
circulated false and scurrilous matter, labeled by the very title 
this volume bears. I have, therefore, adopted it so that the 
public may realize some of the real thoughts which emanated 
from the pen and the real utterances which were enunciated by 
the voice of James K. O'Connor. 

Margaret M. O'Connor. 
Utica, N. Y., July 4, 1913. 



List of Contents 

No. Title. Page. 

1. Memories of Other Days 1 

2. The Old City Mill Pond. 6 

3. The Genesee Flats Fire 9 

4. Welcome to a Labor Convention 12 

5. Minute of Respect to Chief Cleveland 16 

6. Oneonta, July 4, 1903 17 

7. Pythian Memorial, 1901 29 

8. Adopted and Native Sons 32 

9. Red Men's Memorial Day 36 

10. Welcome to the Returning Soldiers — 1899 43 

11. To the Soldiers from the Philippines 46 

12. Watts' Eulogy — Nashville, Tenn 49 

13. Corn Hill, July 4, 1904 51 

14. Lest We Forget— (Wexford, '98) — 57 

15. Elks' Memorial Address, 1909 61 

16. Oriskany Falls, May 30, 1906 67 

17. New Year's in Court, 1910 74 

18. • Irish Soldiers in the Civil War 75 

19. Rewards of Office Holding 82 

20. Eulogy of the Dead 86 

21. The Box-Car Typographer 90 

22. Tribute to Smith M. Lindsley 94 

23. Tribute to Vice-President Sherman 95 

24. Tribute to_ Frederick G. Fincke 97 

25. Tribute to Thomas D. Watkins 99 

26. Tribute to Thomas S. Jones 101 

27. * Why We Are Here— Academy, 1910 103 

28. Clayville, July 4, 1911 106 

29. The Irish National Spirit 115 

30. Fort Plain, May 30, 1911 121 

31. The French Revolution 128 

32. Hamilton, N. Y., May 30, 1912 141 

33. German Day Address 150 * 

34. Why Men Steal 155 

35. Buffalo Elks, December, 1911 161 

36. The Men of To-Morrow 166 

37. Most Dramatic Utterance .■ 170 

38. Campaign Pledge 170 

39. Forest Hill. May 30, 1913 172 

40. An After-Dinner Speech, 1905 177 

41. A Poetical Effusion, 1885 180 

42. Tit, Tat, Toe 181 

43. Old Home Week, 1903 182 



MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS. 

Academy Alumni Banquet, 1904. 

In these days of horseless carriages, wireless telegrams, heart- 
less humans and thoughtless speech, it does not require much 
agility or a great stretch of the imagination to jump back a quarter 
of a century — in fancy. Close then your eyes and take the leap 
with me. .The time, 1879 — the place, the old Academy building 
in the Fifth Ward of sacred memory — to John Brandegee, who 
still clings, and to His Honor, Mayor Talcott, and to myself, who 
in days of old clung to residences in that bailiwick with as much 
tenacity as did ever Michael O'Rourke, Dan Shadrach, Couchy 
Meyers, Cale Dunn or John Davy Hackett. 

My, how the memories crowd ! First comes the thought of 
Friday afternoon rhetoricals, and how soon every sixth week 
did roll around. A harsh, strident voice rasps out, "And the 
rider of that black horse was Benedict Arnold." Poor old black 
horse, how many times he has ridden across that school platform, 
and charged the heights. But Arnold was not allowed a monopoly 
on the charging business, for "Zagonyi's Charge" many a time 
and oft did faithful duty, but won its greatest favor when ac- 
companied by the graceful presence and pleasing voice of W. 
Fred Adams. A few moments more and we hear the deafening 
crash of artillery, amid the blackness of desolate night, only to be 
relieved by the resonant tones of Herman Reichert, shouting, 
"Lights ! Lights ! It is, it. is the march of Attila !" And then 
floats a peaceful calm over the blue ocean while Arthur McMillan 
assists Herve Kiel in the arduous passage of the fleet through the 
straits. At intervals the tension is relieved by some sweet-voiced 
maiden reading, and you can gamble that she reads not of Jennie 
McNeill, The Curfew or The Leak in the Dyke. These have 
been left behind in the Advanced School. I will name no names, 
for most of our girls of that day are looking young and girlish 
yet and I am willing to keep their secrets. Ed Clark apostro- 
phizes the Grecian Isles, Jim Sheffield again makes that maiden 
effort which bears the stamp of future oratorical strength, and 
Ote Northrop, with the aid of stiff and squeaky shoes, raises the 
siege of Londonderry. But, why go down the list? Scarce a 
soul of them is here to-night. Why have we not been strong with 
an association of this kind? Why did repeated efforts at or- 
ganization only meet with dismal failure? Because the many, 
like Bob Burdette's Swallows, have migrated and built nests of 
their own in other localities, "and you can't bring them back if 
you want to." 

Another scene is presented. It is the opening of school in the 



morning. The Bible is being read for a few minutes. Poor old 
Bible! You too have been banished and can only be thought of 
in connection with the Academy as a memory, the same as our- 
selves. I never heard much that was read from you, old friend, 
because during that five minutes I usually had a book beneath 
the desk, and was industriously studying up a recitation due in 
the first hour, and which had not been acquired on the previous 
evening because of divers and sundry other pressing engagements 
too numerous to recall. Let us see ! Somewhere in Proverbs 
cannot this be found, and did we not hear it upon several occa- 
sions? "He that passeth by and meddleth with strife belonging 
not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears." And then 
there was Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians, the 10th chapter 
and 27th verse, which generally appeals to laymen inclined to the 
banquet habit, but finds scant favor elsewhere: "If any of them 
that 'believe not bid you to a feast, and ye be disposed to go ; 
whatsoever is set before you, eat, asking no question for con- 
science sake." 

The writing lesson came as a relief once a week, and then there 
was the singing lesson, that was a great treat — for the lawless. 
Interlineation and discord were prominent features, and more 
than once our instructor desisted in disgust. And then there 
were the various recitations, and the marching down to class and 
back, sometimes with "the measured tread of a grenadier," more 
often with the helter-skelter shuffle of the ferry-boat patron, each 
as distasteful as the other to those in authority. Languages living 
and dead, sciences, history, mathematics, literature, all go by in 
a rush, leaving only a fitful memory here and there. B year — . 
botany, and we each thought ourselves that flower which answers 
to this botanical definition — "A dicotyledonous exogen, with a 
monopetallous corolla" — the daisy. With the thought of litera- 
ture recurs a memory of the recitals of Gray's Elegy under Miss 
Sieboth that was, and poor dead-and-gone, playful, jolly, good- 
natured Al Symonds' favorite line therein, "Can storied urn or 
animated bust," in which he always inserted two interrogations. 
The urn that had the story had been left in the front yard by '77 
upon retiring and bore its motto, "The star of the unconquered 
will." Al and the speaker and some others considered that motto 
and the above quoted lines as having personal bearing, even though 
we had to change the original sense and word emphasis. The 
shifting of this ornament from its place in the yard to a position 
as barrier to the front door was one of the incidents which re- 
quired explanation to the principal, and later an interview with 
that good friend of all the boys, whose memory shall ever be 
revered, whose kindly face, cheery smile, pleasant greeting and 

2 



reassuring handclasp are forever imprinted upon the hearts of the 
old schoolboys and old schoolgirls who knew him as principal of 
the Advanced School and as City Superintendent of Schools, 
Andrew McMillan, of blessed memory. 

One might rattle on for an hour in what General McQuade 
while penning would delight to call a random screed, but time is 
limited. The thousand and one things which memory calls from 
its dark and forgotten recesses, nearly all would serve to reawaken 
pleasant thoughts of the past, — the trials in the court-house which 
some of us felt compelled to attend, the pie man, the baseball nine 
— aye, and the female baseball nine, organized on paper as a 
joke, — the cider incident, which had its memorial day each recur- 
ring October for many years, the "scurrilous mock schemes," the 
green vests of St. Patrick's day, — all these and more could be told 
and retold, until you would have a surfeit of that class of tale. 

But there never was a pleasant recollection but behind it lurked 
a shadow carrying sadness in its wake. Many, many of our 
schoolmates "have crossed the dark river that flows at the foot 
of the hill of life." And in that list may be placed loving and 
beloved members of our own families, friends who were as dear 
as kindred, and associates w^hose memories neither time, circum- 
stances, condition or change of environment can efface or dimin- 
ish. Others have been forced to battle against strong odds, and 
their weak hearts have given way under the strain, driving them 
beaten and balBed to the foot of the ladder repeatedly. All of us 
have not attained the high ideals of those youthful days, while 
some few have exceeded their childish dreams. But whatever 
we are and wherever we stand, each recognizes that he or she 
owes much to the loved teachers of early days, and to that grand- 
est bulwark of American liberty which shall endure for all time 
— the public school system. 

The changes in the faculty of the institution have not been as 
many and as varied as might be expected in a high school. The 
farther we get away from schooldays, the more kindly become 
the memories of the teachers. As Colonel Ingersoll so aptly 
phrased it, we now look through "reverent eyes made rich with 
honest thought." The average graduate requires quite a few 
years steady appliance in the world's curriculum of common sense' 
before settling down to a sturdy business basis, and when that 
has been accomplished there is quite a noticeable change in thd 
view and point of vision. Across the gap of years stretching from 
1880, the time of graduation, to to-night I can only find pleasant 
recollections of the faculty. Now and then I grieve for some of- 
the thoughtless things done which must have carried pain and' 

3 



sorrow to the heart of that scholarly gentleman who for so many 
years guided the destinies of the Academy, Principal George C. 
Sawyer. The class of '80, in which I have always been proud to 
have been numbered, left as its memento a memorial transom to 
that saintly man of lovable character, who suffered so much and 
never complained. Professor Edwin Plunt. The father of the 
present French instructor, too, was beloved of all. Having been 
born with a tender spot in the heart for womankind, it need not 
surprise you to hear that Miss Pringle, Miss Sieboth (now Mrs. 
Kennedy), and Miss Johnson, who succeeded Professor Hunt for 
a short time, have always been borne in the regard of the speaker 
as sacred ideals. Professors Payson, Williams, Anderson, though 
short in their stay, made friends, and the departure of each was 
regretted. And last but not least, I must pay respects to those 
still in the harness. "Three hundred words ! Three hundred 
words !" keeps ringing in my brain. And how one would have to 
stretch and scrape and "pad" his or her composition to reach that 
limit ! How some of you must wish that Professor Downing had 
the revision of these remarks and how glad you would be 
if he had fixed the maximum and not the minimum limit as of 
old at "three hundred words." And it is to be hoped that the 
style of rendition and the gestures have done full credit to his in-, 
structions in declamation a quarter of a century ago. There is 
still one left, — an esteemed personal friend of many years stand- 
ing — Herr Nicholas Zarth. Hoch der Herr Zarth ! Unfortunate- 
ly I was not an attendant upon any of his classes, and thus was 
compelled to acquire German under the private tutorship of Pro- 
fessors Haak, Gammel and Gebhardt, supplemented by courses 
at the picnics of the Harugari, the Maennerchor, the Turnverein 
and the Saengerbund. I know that I hold his forgiveness for the 
apparent slight of not having mastered German under his tuition, 
and likewise for the insertion in his high hat of some cabbage 
leaves used in a botany lesson, and again for the raising of a win- 
dow that another might smite the aforesaid hat. 

Ah ! those days are gone beyond recall ! Those pages of the 
book of life are forever closed. The apparent ills and evils of 
the days of scholarship have long since vanished into thin mist. 
There remain only the memories of good work accomplished and 
pleasures enjoyed, and the ever sweet thoughts of how pretty we 
looked and how well we did, and whose bouquets we carried in 
(or who carried in ours) from the stage on graduation night. 
The golden fountain of memory may sometimes clog and diminish 
its spray, but upon an occasion like this, with our civic pride 
awakened and strengthened by the gathering of the genius, the 
ability, the beauty and the manhood representative of Utica's 



aristocracy of brains, every inspiration is at hand to cause the 
stream supplying that fountain with the "Memories of Other 
Days," to burst forth at full pressure. For the kind attention 
given this ramble through "auld lang syne," accept the heartfelt 
thanks of the inflictor, who recognizes the fact that your patience 
comes from nobility of soul, and that one of the cardinal prin- 
ciples of this association is contained in the poet's injunction : 

"Be noble, 

And the nobleness which lies in other men, 

Sleeping but never dead, will rise 

In majesty to meet thine own." 




THE OLD CITY MILL POND. 

Utica Sunday Tribune, April 8, 1894. 

To those perusing this column who were boys in East Utica 
during the period back of the last dozen years, the headline will 
bring many pleasant memories. Their brethren on the west side 
of Genesee Street were wont to regale themselves within the nar- 
row walls of the Chenango canal locks, numbered from 4 to 9. 
Every passing boat drove them to the banks, there to shiver or 
blister, according as the day's temperature might be. With the 
East Utica boys it was different. They never were compelled to 
leave the water save when chased by their mothers or a policeman. 

The Utica City Flour Mill was burned to the ground on the 
night of Tuesday, April 19, 1870. It was one of the hottest and 
hardest-fought fires Utica had seen in a decade. The massive 
brick chimney, 165 feet in height, withstood the ravages of the 
fire fiend. The constant flow of the mill stream over the water- 
wheel had saved that, too. The chimney, the water-wheel and 
flume, and a few blackened, crumbling walls and casements, were 
all that was left of a promising industry. To the small boy the 
fire was but of passing moment. It gave him a little more freedom, 
for he was no longer under the dictation of the dozen or more 
mill employees, and he could turn the current at his own sweet 
will down the mill race or over the wooden falls, thus changing 
the swimming place to either upper or lower pond. 

Eight o'clock of any summer morning was none too early for 
most of the boys, and some, with a love for fishing, were on hand 
with the first gray streaks of the dawning day. When school was 
on, very often the lads of the vicinity performed their morning 
ablutions in the pond, and now and then an all-absorbing game 
of "water tag" was started, the duration of which prevented some 
one from answering school roll-call and necessitated the writing of 
an excuse by the best penman in the party. In a nearby field some 
of the railroad employees at various times attempted the cultiva- 
tion of the succulent potato. Too often the "rooters" got in their 
work before harvest time. The corn fields on the flats were sub- 
ject to similar depredations, and now and then one of a flock of 
Brahma hens owned by a neighbor went to make up a feast for 
the lads. Frogs, bullheads and suckers were within easy reach, 
and with the acquirement of a little salt by a polite request at the 
back door of the nearest house, the menu was complete. Many 
times has the excuse been given for not appearing at the paternal 
table, 'T didn't feel hungry, so I thought I wouldn't come home 
to dinner." Possibly there was another reason for absenteeism 
on that particular occasion. Now and then, if you were in an 

s 



exposed position close to the water, the boy back of you acci- 
dently stumbled against you and you tumbled into the water, 
clothes and all. The fire built for dinner would then serve the 
double purpose of drying your garments. 

There were no class distinctions in those days. The boy who 
lived in a brick house on Broad Street and wore shoes all the 
year round was just as liable to find his clothes tied in a hard 
knot, or several of them, as was the bare-footed lad whose father 
had squatted in a Gulf shanty or an old, unused canal boat lying 
in the basin. And then what a howl of derisive laughter went 
up from the others in the water, who would come out in a few 
minutes only to go through the same evolutions, while listening 
to the refrain of — 

"Chaw ! Chaw raw beef ! 
The beef is tough; 
Chaw a little harder 

When you can't get enough." 

Nicknames? Why, bless the boys, they reveled in them. A 
nickname was a badge of distinction ; he who did not possess one 
of them could not be admitted into the inner circles. In fact, they 
hardly knew the names of each other in the style which they 
would be given in the directories of later years. There was 
"Poodle," and "Fatty," and "Shiner"; there was "Jude," and 
"Stumpy," and "Colua," "Boots" and "Humpy" and "Corker," 
and a thousand others. They were the youngsters who could dive 
off the highest beam, who could squeeze through the hole at the 
bottom of the box, and who dared to slide over the falls with the 
flood when the iron waste gates were thrown open. To jump in 
without waiting to undress was a daily occurrence with them, and 
if a new boy came around they squabbled for the privilege of 
tying his clothes or giving him the first licking. 

But there never was a pleasant memory revived but somewhere 
lurked beneath it a tinge of sadness. The "whirlpool," as it was 
called, was just beneath where the canal waste- weir emptied into 
the mill pond, thus again forming Ballou's Creek, which had been 
swallowed up in the Basin. On some occasions the swirling cur- 
rent here became so strong that only the bravest and boldest 
swimmers could withstand the force with which it dragged the 
unsuspecting victim toward the bottom. Here it was that young 
Henry Battey, attempting to rescue a companion struggling within 
this vortex, was clutched in that companion's drowning grasp and 
went with him to the bottom. Here is was that poor Tim Con- 
nell, taking his Sunday wash after a hard week's work, was over- 
come and sunk. A dozen others barely escaped the treacherous 

7 



current, some of them even being dragged from the bottom and 
only restored to consciousness after heroic treatment over a bar- 
rel. Most of the frequenters of the pond feared nothing but this. 
Even those who could crawl through the sluiceway under the 
canal to Schwab's dry-dock were careful to avoid this particular 
danger spot. 

At half-past three every afternoon all games were suspended 
and the troop swarmed up to the towpath of the Erie, to be 
ready to plunge in and be tossed about by the "waves," as we 
chose to term them, which the Ilion packet generated. The sound 
of a whistle from a tug or towboat as it passed beneath Broad 
Street bridge always begot a similar stampede. As soon as the 
Erie's surface had regained its usual limpidity, another rush was 
made back to the mill pond. In the meantime, some industrious 
individual had tied together in one long string all the clothes 
which had not been carefully secreted, and had abstracted from 
the pockets of the luckless wights who owned the garments sundry 
jack-knives, marbles and wads of chewing gum. 

Next an adjournment to the Central Railroad's cattle yards 
would be in order, and a game of two old-cat, with a yarn 
or a ten-cent ball and a bat which had seen duty as a fence-picket 
or axe-helve, would be inaugurated. When the yards were in 
use, those who understood about milking would practice their 
art upon the cows, who were too weary to file a protest. The 
largest hat in the party served as a receptacle for the fluid, and 
no one was ashamed to drink therefrom. And after it all was 
over, as the shades of evening were approaching, the lads gathered 
beneath the mighty elm tree which stood on the bank of the lower 
pond, and swapped Munchausenisms, and smoked penny clay 
pipes filled, according to the toughness of the boy, with either 
tobacco, dockseed or dried bean leaves. 

Those days are gone beyond recall. The cattle yard has been 
moved ; the railroad's passenger tracks run through it. The coal 
yard with its trestles, upon which tag was so often played; the 
round-house, every inch of which had been searched for par- 
ticipants in the pleasures of hide-and-seek, are no more. And 
now the pond, which was the chief attraction for the many who 
gathered there, is about to be closed up. The Wheeler Furnace 
Company has purchased the land, and men are at work building 
a culvert, through which the water will be carried to the culvert 
under the Central tracks, and upon the site of the spot which has 
brought up all these memories many molders will soon be plying 
their daily vocation and endeavoring to "keep their feet in the 
sand." ,, • 1 



THE GENESEE FLATS FIRE. 

Utica Sunday Tribune ^ March 8, 1896. 

"Tears for the dead, whose bodies lent 
Fuel for Death's grim sacrament." 

"Here is the spot where the ruins black 
Smoulder and smoke in a steaming stack, 
Scorched and singed and baked and charred — 
Here was the * * * house, evil-starred." 

Dawn is breaking over the city. Bitter cold is the March day 
about to be ushered in. Proud and disdainful looking, the lofty 
apartment house lifts its head almost to the gray clouds of the 
morning twilight. More than two hundred human beings are 
within its walls, silently sleeping. No cares or troubles, other than 
the ordinary ones of life, are disturbing their slumbers. 

Footsteps hurry from hall to hall and figures flit from door to 
door. Rude is the awakening from many a peaceful dream. One 
ominous word is whispered and then shrieked in reply — "Fire !" 

Great God ! The vast tenement is on fire ! 

The stifling smoke is curling its way upward and slowly filling 
every hall and room. The very air is laden with poison. Men, 
half dressed and half crazed, rush from front to rear of the top 
stories, vainly looking for a mode of egress. Frantic women, 
clad only in their robes of night, seek for a means of escape. 
Here and there some man, cooler than his fellows, or some 
woman, more sensible than her sex, has managed to keep a good 
head. They immediately become the leaders of their group. The 
others are only too glad to follow. 

Doors leading to fire escapes are not only locked, but extrg, 
precautions have been taken to wire them. They must be battered 
down or broken in. In many cases hands and feet were the only 
available weapons. Cut and bleeding hands are of no moment 
now, for human lives are at stake. There is not one door alone 
between the fleeing ones and liberty ; another and yet another has 
to be forced. The way to safety lies through a tortuous laby- 
rinth and all the while the smoke becomes more blinding and mor^ 
stifling. The flames are almost upon them; their fierce breath 
can be felt. 

Words fail. No tongue or pen can describe the horrors of that 
scene and do the subject justice. 

One trained athlete swings from a balcony high up in air an<i 
drops to the next balcony below. The suspense of the crowd 
gives way to applause. The fire ladders cannot reach more than 

9 



half way to the top of the structure. A rope is thrown to the man 
last mentioned. He passes it up to those he left behind. It is sent 
one story higher still, and there secured. The perilous descent 
is made by one woman in safety. An elderly lady tries it. A 
few feet down and she becomes faint. Weak hands try to seize 
and hold her, but they too give out. A shudder and a moan. The 
woman has lost her hold and drops forty feet to the pavement 
below. She rises, staggers, struggles — falls, never again to rise 
in this world. The breath of life remains but a few moments, 
and then her Maker has called her home. 

Brave firemen are in the building dragging to places of safety 
those who are too feeble or too frantic to care for themselves. 
Quickly the flames leap up. The sky is ablaze for miles around. 
Everybody who can be found is out of the building. It is be- 
lieved that all are safe, save the one woman dashed to death upon 
the pavements. 

The streams from the fire hose are as but puny rivulets. They 
make no impression upon what has now become a seething fur- 
nace. Every effort must now be made to save residences hun- 
dreds of feet away. 

The vast crowd, which has collected from every direction, gazes 
breathless and awe-stricken upon the appalling sight. An uni- 
versal cry of thanks ascends from their very souls that but one 
life has been lost. A few minutes pass, and the heart-rending 
tale that several are missing passes from lip to lip. 

Floors give way, walls topple, and the spell-bound multitude 
forgets for a moment the awful grandeur of the sight before its 
eyes, to breathe a sigh for the unfortunates buried beneath the 
pile of ruins. Certain it is that three precious lives are thus lost. 
There may possibly be more, who will have to be placed in the 
category of the dead strewn upon the earth's great battle-fields 
and buried amidst the ruin of its catastrophes — unknown. 

The many who escaped literally brought nothing with them. 
Some were bare-headed and bare-legged — but they were living, 
and for that they were truly thankful. The home relics which 
had taken years to gather were swept away in a moment, but sor- 
row over the losses was drowned by the joy of again fondly clasp- 
ing loved ones. 

The three who did not escape were a man and two women. 
The man had finished a successful business career, and was round- 
ing out his life in a way pleasurable to many retired merchants. 
The women were a mother and daughter, who came of distin- 
guished stock. The mother was in middle life; the daughter 

10 



still a girl at scliool, just budding into beautiful womanhood — the 
incarnation of all that was pure and true and holy, and bearing 
the name of one of the noblest women created. But the deadly 
smoke and the furious flame cared naught for youth or beauty 
or purity. The fire-fiend greedily devoured everything animate 
and inanimate which came within his reach. 

A ghastly, skeleton-like brick wall swaying in the breeze. Piles 
of debris, some ice-coated, some giving forth steam and smoke 
where the water from the hose still plays upon them. Fire lines 
stretching far on either side. Policemen and firemen to keep 
straggling late-comers beyond the lines. That is the picture the 
fading sunset light of a second day shines upon. The day before 
its last rays had beheld seventy happy families ensconced safely in 
their little home nests, where now rises the ruin, black and for- 
bidding. 

It was upon the occasion of a somewhat similar, but more hor- 
rible occurrence, a native of Utica of hallowed memory, penned 
"Over the Ruins," the opening lines of which appear at the head 
of this column. And with him, we may say of the departed ones : 

"Theirs was the agony, bitter and brief. 
Ours the heartache and lingering grief ; 
Tears for the homes that are stricken to-day, 
Mourning the loved ones snatched away, 
Mourning the lost who shall come no more ; 
Tears for the hearts that are bleeding and sore; 
Tears for the living not less than the dead — 
The living who will not be comforted; 
Who weep over bodies blackened and charred, 
Burned in the * * * house, evil-starred." 



f^^. 



11 



WELCOME TO A LABOR CONVENTION. 

(1906.) 

Mr. Chairman and Convention Delegates : 

You have been welcomed to this Queen City of the Mohawk 
by our Mayor, one we love to honor; a man who has himself for 
years been an employer of labor, and who is respected and hon- 
ored by all the men who have ever worked under him. He has 
given you the freedom of the city, and I know that you will re- 
spect the request of your chairman and will do nothing that will 
bring to anyone a regret that that freedom was extended to you. 
You have been welcomed in behalf of labor by one of the brainiest 
men who has ever stood within the ranks of labor, Mr. Bates, a 
man who has been a leader in the cause of labor, who has since 
his boyhood striven to uplift the workingman. The welcome that 
has been extended by these two gentlemen is certainly one of 
which you may feel proud, and no words that I might utter could 
in any way add to the heartiness of it. 

For a great many years I carried a card in a labor organization 
and am to-day an honorary member of that organization, known 
as the Typographical Union. I am a believer in the cause of 
organized labor. 

Mankind is, at best, but a few degrees removed from savagery, 
and with us, as with the savage beast, it is ever the custom that 
the strongest must prevail; sometimes the strength of a good 
right arm and sometimes, more often in our day, the strength of 
money. Labor has ever struggled to uplift its members, and con- 
ditions to-day are due to that struggle. Compare if you can the 
home of the workingman of twenty-five or thirty years ago and 
the man engaged in the same trade to-day. The result has been 
accomplished through the efforts of organized labor. Look at 
the schools. The children of the laboring people only a few 
years ago were a source of pride to their parents if they had 
mastered the three R's — Reading, Ritin' and Rithmetic. Twenty- 
five years ago or more, when I was a student at the Utica Free 
Academy in this city, our graduating class numbered nineteen. 
The population of the city has not doubled, or more than doubled, 
in that time, and yet the graduating class of the Academy this 
year will consist of more than one hundred scholars, and most 
of them come from the families of laboring men. 

The wages paid to-day, and forced to be paid by organized 
labor, have given the laboring men a chance to wear better clothes, 
build better homes, and eat better food. The workingman of to- 
day has given himself a chance to educate his children, so that 

12 



they will have better power to grapple with the problems of the 
world than the fathers and mothers of to-day. 

It is not so very long ago since victorious armies were singing 
that wonderful song, the Battle Hymn of the Republic : 

"In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me ; 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free!" 

To-day it is not dying to make men free that will do the most 
good — it is living to make men free. It is the duty of every man 
to so live that he will better the conditions of those about him. 
Some of us forget, when we are raised a little above our fellow 
men, when we are entrusted with a little more power or made 
the trustee of a little more worldly goods, we forget the condi- 
tions of the men who have not fared so well as we, and that is 
the reason for so many of the ills with which humanity suffers 
to-day. They forget that one fundamental principle of Ameri- 
canism, "All men are created free and equal." As we live, then, 
let us do that for the betterment of not only ourselves, but of all 
those contemporaneous with us and for those who are to follow, 
which shall lighten the struggle of union labor in the future. 

The laboring man of the future will think ; he will reason. 
He is no more to be led to the polls by those who control politics 
and vote as told. Laboring men will think it out and reason for 
themselves. 

The laboring man of the future will be temperate. He is 
learning day by day that the social glass, when taken too often, 
steals away his brain. One of the distinguished British generals 
in the South African war remarked, when speaking of the march 
to Ladysmith, that it was not the young or the old, the crippled 
or the weak, nor the sickly who fell out of the lines, but the 
drinking man. That lesson will be told to every body of soldiery 
for years to come. Where is there a greater body of soldiery 
than the one marching beneath Labor's banner? Union labor is 
to-day the greatest army that America has ever known. Day in 
and day out, year in and year out, it is fighting the battle which 
has been fought since the creation of the universe — the battle of 
the weak against the strong, the battle of the oppressed against 
the oppressor, and the men who are in that march, the men who 
are constantly marching to the relief of the beleagured garrisons 
everywhere, are the men who are within the ranks of union labor. 

It is not long since that an employer said the reason why the 
request for a greater wage should not be granted to certain of 

13 



his employees was that they would only spend it foolishly for 
drink, and he might as well have it as they. That should impress 
itself upon all concerned, so that when they travel in this great 
march for principle none will fall out — all will be there at the 
finish ! 

Mankind deserves your best efforts. Whenever you meet in 
convention you do not meet to have a good time; you do not 
meet to pass resolutions ; you do not meet to pat one another on 
the back ; you meet to benefit your own kind, so that other organ- 
izations may take heart and follow up your good work, and so 
that all the world may be benefitted by what little good you may 
have accomplished. 

You are facing the stern reality to-day. Do you know that 
possibly fifteen or twenty families control almost all the money 
in this country? By and by it may come to pass where a single 
man has it alone. And what then ? Legislators have been bought 
away from you in the past; newspapers are bought every day. 
Why, only the other day I was reading in a paper, which some 
years ago started in as a labor paper, that a certain Legislator 
was not aboard the band wagon in a contest for a high office be- 
cause he had not declared for this or that candidate who proved 
successful. I would rather stand alone and die fighting with my 
back against the wall for a principle that I knew to be right than 
to ride on anybody's band wagon. 

John Brown, who was hanged at Harper's Ferry in '59 because 
of his abolition theories and action against the government, had 
scarcely been dead two years when from every valley and hill- 
side, every workshop and every place in the land, armed thou- 
sands and hundreds of thousands were marching to that tune, 
"Old John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, but his 
soul goes marching on." If everybody got on the band wagon 
when John Brown was hanged there would not have been any 
Shiloh, or Vicksburg, or Appomattox. Instead of there being 
one republic on this continent at the present time, we might have 
five or six. Those fellows who are always wanting to get on 
the band wagon are the class of fellows who were Tories in the 
Revolutionary times. King George was good enough for them. 
George Washington, because he led hungry and ill-clad armies, 
because he fought on and on, despite continued defeat, according 
to this latter-day reasoning, must have been a fool, because he was 
not on board the band wagon. 

My friends, in the cause of Labor let me say to you never be 
swerved. "Nail your flag to the mast-head and go down with 
the ship," if you must go down. The man who stands by a cause 

14 



that he knows to be right is worth more than a hundred thousand 
camp-followers who are working for a place on the band wagon. 

I trust that this convention of yours, which seems to me to be 
largely a cosmopolitan affair, will aid your organization; thai 
every one of you, when you return to your homes, will feel satis- 
fied that he is a better man by reason of attending, and that when 
again you meet progress in all branches of your organization shall 
have been shown. The one thing for you to do is to hew to the 
right. Do that which you know to be right, for the betterment 
of youi-selves, your neighbors and for future generations. Adopt 
as your motto the words of the beautiful poem which in boyhood 
we read in the old Fourth Reader : 

"I live for those who love me. 

For those who know me true ; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit, too. 
For the cause that lacks assistance. 
For the wrongs that need resistance. 
For the future in the distance. 

And the good that I can do." 




35 



MINUTE OF RESPECT TO THE LATE CHARLES F. 
CLEVELAND. 

■ (Entered in the City Conrt Record of February 29, 1908.) 

The Court learns with deep regret of the death of Charles F. 
Cleveland, Chief of Police. Eight years of constant association 
in official life gives to one the opportunity of closely analyzing, 
another. Seldom is the review thus made given forth in life- 
time. When the Grim Leveler has taken from us that which was 
mortal of our associate, then do we break over the line of reserve 
and carry flowers to the coffin. The English language possesses, 
adjectives a-plenty with which to describe the make-up of him 
who is gone. Honest, faithful, brave, fearless, dauntless, un- 
flinching, loyal, conscientious, each tells of some of his charac- 
teristics, and yet much more could be truthfully said. The medal 
awarded him by the Congress of the United States for bravery 
at Antietam was to him his proudest possession. To those he 
leaves behind the greatest heritage is the knowledge that where 
many similarly situated have failed and fallen, ten years of 
service as Chief of Police closed his life, and in that time there 
was never a whisper of that tainted word of modern America 
which has closed so many careers and tarnished so many lives — 
"Graft." 




16 



ADDRESS AT ONEONTA. 

July 4, 1903. 

One hundred and twenty-seven years have passed since that 
eventful day when old Independence Bell pealed forth the joyous 
notes of Liberty. The immortal Declaration of Independence 
then enunciated brought into being a new, struggling and sparsely 
settled nation. Crude was its inception, diverse the interests 
sought to be assimilated. With foes within, with no resources, a 
powerful enemy to combat — the more we study the question to- 
day the more we are compelled to marvel at the wonderful suc- 
cess wrought by the master hands who guided the helm through 
years of despair. 

When some years previously the first note of resistance to 
taxation without representation had been sounded, the colonists 
were merely struggling to protect their rights as British subjects. 
None were so daring as to dream of an independent nation. The 
first Continental Congress appealed for the rights of the colon- 
ists by addresses directed not only to the people of the colonies, 
but to the king and the people of England as well. But when 
Great Britain by force of arms sought not onjy to enforce its 
legislative enactments, but to subjugate or destroy those who 
would peacefully resist, there began the growth of another senti- 
ment. It was not the rash impulse of a single moment, but the 
careful thought and preparation of weeks and months which 
finally resulted in the severance of all relations with England. 

The motion to appoint a committee to prepare the Declaration 
of Independence was made in the Continental Congress in ses- 
sion at Philadelphia on June 7, 1776, and nearly four weeks later, 
on the day we celebrate, that marvelous and matchless document, 
which declared all men to be created equal, to be endowed by 
the Creator with certain inalienable rights, among them being 
life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and which ended forever 
the dominion of Britain over our land, was adopted almost 
unanimously by that body. 

For over two years prior to that time British soldiers had been 
quartered in the Colonies with hostile intent. Fifteen months 
had elapsed since the shedding of the first blood at Lexington 
and at Concord, and the grass had been growing for more than 
a year above the graves of Warren and the patriot dead who fell 
at Bunker Hill. For the same length of time General Washing- 
ton had been in command of the American forces in the field. 
Canada had been invaded and Quebec besieged by our troops, 
and Norfolk burned and Charlestown attacked by the British. 

17 



And yet, with all these stirring events happening, careful thought 
and deliberation was given to every detail before separation from 
the mother country was finally agreed upon. 

Then came the occupation of New York City and the seizure 
of Rhode Island, and almost the darkest days of the Revolution, 
when hope had departed from nearly every breast, to be revived 
by the magnificent courage and daring displayed by Washington 
in crossing the Delaware — so often told, sung and painted — and 
capturing bands of the enemy and their arms. 

Soon followed Brandywine and Germantown and their tales 
of disaster. But Bennington and Saratoga in turn changed con- 
ditions and brought to us the long-sought recognition of foreign 
powers, and the assistance in the field of many patriotic and 
freedom-loving foreigners. And Saratoga would have been an- 
other tale but for brave old Nicholas Herkimer and his band of 
Mohawk Valley farmers, who, at Oriskany, drove back and dis- 
persed the horde of British and Indians the notorious St. Leger 
was bringing down to Saratoga to reinforce Burgoyne. 

And so on through the years waged the battles, in New Eng- 
land, in the Middle States and in the South, leaving to us the hal- 
lowed memories stretching from Lexington to Yorktown, 

And when finally peace was declared graver questions faced 
the statesmen of the republic, each in turn to be met and solved. 
It was only by strenuous labor, covering a period of several 
months, after the workings of several years had demonstrated 
the many weaknesses of the first articles of confederation, that 
the Constitution was adopted. Many were fearful of some of its 
provisions, some delegates openly refused to sign, and a couple 
of States withheld their sanction for some time thereafter. Thus 
it was that in 1789, thirteen years after the Declaration and six 
years after the acknowledgement of our independence by Great 
Britain, that the present republican form of government was 
inaugurated. 

The experiment of the closing days of the eighteenth century 
has proven to be the most gigantic success the world has ever 
known, in these, the opening days of the twentieth century. The 
grandeur of the character and the greatness of the exploits of 
General Washington, and the devotion, loyalty and unselfishness 
of his comrades in arms, marred only by the treachery of one, 
have lost nothing by the lapse of years. To-day they are en- 
shrined as reverently in our hearts as ever they were in the hearts 
of past generations, and in the years to come the story of that 
struggle for liberty will be perpetuated with the young of every 

18 



succeeding generation through the medium of America's greatest; 
bulwark, the pubHc school system. And so with those who aided 
Washington in steering the good old craft of state — Randolph, 
and Henry, and Otis, and Adams ; Jefferson, Hancock, Sherman, 
Morris, Franklin, Livingston and their compatriots, whose names 
shall ever stand as household words and whose deeds shall point 
out to those who succeed them in similar places the true path 
to be followed. 

Our trials and vicissitudes as a nation have been many since 
that launching of the ship of state. England had once more to 
be taught a lesson, but this time the instruction was principally 
given upon water, demonstrating to the satisfaction of the Anglo- 
Saxon that our people were good fighters under any circum- 
stances. Where it had taken nearly eight years in the previous 
course of instruction to convince John Bull of his errors, he com- 
pleted the second curriculum in three. 

The years swiftly glide. We acquire territory by purchase,, 
by discovery, by treaty, by annexation. State by State is added, 
and star by star to the flag. And all the Old World wonders as 
we grandly grow. Then the Texan, with his Lone Star, asks for 
our protective wing, and we gather him to the fold, which pre- 
cipitates two years of strife with Mexico, and again the Ameri- 
can arms are victorious. And again the hero of this war. Gen- 
eral Taylor, reached the Presidency, as did General Jackson, who 
won the concluding battle with England in 1815. 

Then, when there are no strifes to be settled with others, dark 
clouds begin to hover at home; differences in politics beget 
heated arguments and radical speeches in Congress, in the pul- 
pit and in the forum, and inflammatory diatribes in the news- 
papers. One folly begot another, the crowning one of which 
was secession. Great as had been the crises met and overcome in 
the past, surely the republic now faced its darkest days. But the 
God who had been ever true to our country, "in its hour of peril 
and darkness and need," had raised up to power the man who 
could wisely handle the reins and solve the vexed problems con- 
fronting the nation. At times he was sorely tried. Occasions 
there were when the darkness was so dense as to almost compel 
despair of the dawn. 

For four long years this land of ours was racked from end to 
end with the most remarkable and the bloodiest war ever fought 
in this world. Brother against brother, children of a common 
country, strove for the mastery on almost a thousand battle-fields. 
Rivers ran red with blood, corpses strewed valleys, hillsides and 
farmyards, widows and orphans were bereaved each day by the 

19 



hundred — the maimed, the halt, the bhnd, who had been made so 
in the dread conflict, were to be seen on every hand. States were 
swept over by the opposing armies, first the one and then the 
other ; the portable goods taken, other property destroyed, thou- 
sands rendered homeless. Truly, as General Sherman remarked, 
"War is hell." 

To-day, nearly forty years after its close, we can look around 
and see some of its effects. The white-haired veteran with empty 
sleeve and tottering step, he is in a struggle yet. All these years 
it has been a struggle, and with the aid of the meager pension 
granted by the government he manages to drag out an existence, 
waiting for the final muster-out. Now and then there may be 
some unworthy ones who have managed to get on the rolls, but 
these are overbalanced by some of the deserving who never ap- 
plied and the needy whose stipend could with honor be increased. 

But what of his brother in the South — he who fought for "the 
lost cause." His property had been confiscated, probably his 
home destroyed, his family scattered. When at Appomattox he 
laid down his arms and surrendered, he was in tatters and rags, 
gaunt and hungry. His battle too has been a hard one, and often 
has he been compelled to succumb. But upon the ashes of his 
desolate country has risen a new and grander South, with each 
of its States marching proudly side by side with their former foes 
in step to the swelling song, "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." 

And when the Great Emancipator, Lincoln, had seen the 
fruition of his labors in almost the ripened state, when the clouds 
of war were lifting and the remnants of the great armies which 
had been gathered from every section of our land were about to 
return to peaceful pursuits, the bullet of the assassin cut off too 
soon that life which, next to General Washington's, had been the 
most useful this country had ever known. And twice since has 
the country been called upon to mourn Chief Magistrates simi- 
larly assassinated. And every American prays incessantly that 
such an event may never again mar the pages of our history. 

The War of the Rebellion, instead of stagnating our country, 
gave it new life and impetus. The contestants, weary of the 
struggle and carnage, were gladdened by the appearance of the 
white dove of peace. Each gloried in the battles that he had 
won; each paid tribute to his gallant dead in the noble monu- 
ments which cover our land from end to end, and the poets of 
each section enshrined in verse the brave deeds of the heroes 
upon one side and the other. The camp-fires of the survivors still 
glisten and glow, conveying to the hearts of the young lessons in 
patriotism which at some future date may blossom and bear fruit 

20 



when the country needs their services. And the memories that 
cluster around them! We do not wish to forget the stirring 
scenes of those four years, for the scars have healed, and we 
only think of the bravery and gallantry of our soldiers. Chicka- 
hominy, Fair Oaks, Malvern Hill, Antietam, Gettysburg, Donel- 
son, Shiloh, Vicksburg, the March to the Sea, Cedar Creek, Five 
Forks, Appomattox! What memories each of these brings forth 
to those old enough to remember. And those who participated 
in any of the great battles can always find listeners awaiting with 
bated breath the stories of carnage so often told and retold, and 
yet with a charm forever new. 

As in previous conflicts, the man who had proven himself the 
great commander in time of war was chosen to lead the people 
in the paths of peace. Knotty problems again confronted him, and 
some were difficult of solution, but the, great good common sense 
of the American people at all times came to the rescue, and the 
ship of state sailed on smoothly as of yore. The immortal Wash- 
ington, the Father of the Republic, who had guided its destinies 
safely through the depths of war and the shoals of peace, refused 
to accept more than two terms in the Presidential chair. His suc- 
cessors accepted his declination in this respect as binding upon 
them. Some of the friends of the great Grant, believing that as 
there had been many other fundamental changes from the early 
days of the republic an innovation might be permitted in this 
respect, strove unsuccessfully to secure for him a third term in 
the Presidency after a lapse of one term. When it was refused 
by Washington and denied to Grant, what can be said of the 
fatuous dreamers who would seek to secure such a distinction 
for another, who possesses none of the attributes which made 
either great? 

Since the closing of the Civil War we have lived in a fairly 
peaceful state, with the exception of the little brush with Spain and 
the occupation of newly acquired territory. Our prosperity, our 
commerce, our manfactures have increased manifold. The past 
is behind us, and yet its every lesson should be impressed indeli- 
bly upon the heart of every true American. The present, with its 
momentous questions, is with us, and by their determination 
much of the future shall be settled. 

Again we have a hero in the Presidency. It is true that he did 
not have to fight eight or even three or four years to acquire his 
title of hero. A couple of skirmishes sufficed. And yet he is a 
hero nevertheless. For though the Spanish war lasted but a 
short time, it produced a sufficient crop of heroes. None but a 
hero would have invited Booker Washington to the White House, 

21 



knowing full well the enmities the action would arouse. There 
are those who maintain that it was begotten of a sense of grati- 
tude, for if the stories told of El Caney and San Juan be true, 
were it not for the colored soldiers, the 9th and 10th Cavalry and 
the 24th and 25th Infantry, there would not have been many 
heroes left in the Rough Riders or any other participating regi- 
ment to tell the story. And this has been true of the colored 
brother whenever he has been placed under fire. Never was there 
a more magnificent charge than the one made by the 54th Massa- 
chusetts under Colonel Shaw at Fort Wagner. And that night, 
the signal stations flashed it, the telegraph operators repeated it, 
the morning newspapers re-echoed it until the message sent out 
passed into history, "The colored troops fought nobly." And 
again could that truthfully be said of the colored troops in the 
Cuban campaign, and some future historian removed from sur- 
roundings of an official nature and writing from an unbiased and 
dispassionate standpoint will award them that praise to which 
they are rightfully entitled. Whatever phases the negro question 
may assume in different ages, climes and localities, there will be 
none to deny his fighting qualities or bravery under fire. And 
when the superior race which through hundreds of years degraded 
him by means of slavery has uplifted him by means of education 
to the plane of manhood and decency, the negro question will soon 
thereafter have solved itself. 

The marvelous demonstrations made by our navy at Manila 
and Santiago have inspired a wholesome respect for this nation 
beneath all the crowns worn upon all the other continents. And 
yet these very acts have brought home to our own door the ques- 
tion which has been too often the curse of those same kingdoms — 
colonial possessions. Porto Rico and Hawaii are near enough to 
permit ready assimilation into future States of the Union. But 
not so with the far isles of the Southern sea. Their peoples, man- 
ners, customs, are dissimilar. In only one respect do they resem- 
ble us, and that is the polyglot combination of many races, which 
unlike ours has not been assimilated into one homogeneous whole, 
and probably never can be. The destiny which placed them in 
our hands may yet work out a satisfactory solution of the problem,, 
but until that day comes it would seem that a nominal or tentative 
occupation in the cities upheld by the force of arms would be all 
that this government can do. Reports come to us of the civilizing 
and humanizing already done, but this is in the spots where Span- 
ish civilization had been in control. Portions of those islands are 
just as barbarian and unenlightened as they were before ever the 
Spaniard set foot in the Philippines more than three centuries 
ago, and they will continue in the same condition for ages to come. 



But these are not the only problems of color which have arisen 
or will arise to vex us. Every twelve or fifteen years questions 
of finance have disturbed the republic, and sometimes the hue 
was the green of the paper currency, then again the white of the 
cheaper metal or the yellow of the precious gold. And when dire 
results seemed about to ensue because of the raising up of one 
kind of money at the expense of the other, that luck or Providence 
which has always been with us intervened and solved the problem. 
It was neither politics nor finance that settled the silver question, 
but Nature's bountiful supply of the yellow metal newly discov- 
ered in the Klondike and the Yukon, dragged forth from its hid- 
den recesses in the rivers, the lakes, the valleys and the snow- 
covered mountains by the indomitable pluck and energy of the 
daring and ambitious American. The untold wealth of that 
frozen region still pours forth in a steady stream and may it long 
continue. 

But the vital questions of today are not of color, colonies or 
finance, as a specific problem. Labor, just now, is occupying a 
prominent place in the public eye. I am one of those who believe 
that the men engaged in every form and species of labor have the 
right to organize for the protection of themselves, the betterment 
of their conditions and the future welfare of their families. Com- 
pare the wages paid today with the wages paid a few years back. 
What has caused the betterment? Was it voluntarily given by 
the employer or wrested from him piece by piece and step by step 
by organization among the employed ? Where can be found ' a 
more faithful class of employes than the railroad engineers and 
where a better paid class than they ? And- this has been produced 
by the watchfulness and care of the men who have guided their 
organization through all the growing years of the power of the 
railroads. 

It was but a few years ago that communities were bonding 
themselves for. railroads to aid in construction through their 
towns, and the little road came and wended its way along a few 
years, and failed. Then came one or more reorganizations, con- 
nection with other branches, and then leasing or consolidation 
with one of the great systems which overrun the land like the 
netting of a spider web. Through it all the engineer by his 
Brotherhood, which in times gone by has proven itself greater 
than any one railroad, has kept step with the march of events. 

Turn to the printing trades, — where can be found a more in- 
telligent body of men? And none more reasonable. Think of 
the vast number in that craft and nearly all sheltered under the 
protecting wing of the Typographical Union and its allied trades. 

• 23 



How few and far between the cases of friction between employ- 
ers and employes in this line. They always' stand ready to ar- 
bitrate, and the serious difficulties they have had may be enumer- 
ated upon one's fingers. 

And then it was with some unreasoning personage of the stamp 
of Roberts, Reid, Laffan or Otis who looked upon all who toiled 
for a living as menials and unworthy of notice. And in each in- 
stance so far recorded surrender came only after the bitterness of 
defeat and the loss of invested capital which fell largely upon 
others interested and by whom in each instance the surrender 
was finally forced upon the unreasonable ones. 

When labor receives higher prices for the commodity it has 
to sell, labor lives better and is willing to pay higher prices for 
the commodities it receives. The landlord collects higher rent. 
The storekeeper receives more for his goods. The farmer gets 
better pay for his eggs, his potatoes, his pork, his mutton, if the 
trust has not already gobbled them up, as it has his beef. The 
prosperity of the worker is the prosperity of the community and 
he who denies to the working man honest and equitable value for 
the services he renders is an enemy to the community. It happens 
sometimes in the ranks of labor, as well as in municipalities, fra- 
ternities and every other kind of organization, that the wrong 
man is placed high in power, resulting in blunders, useless strikes, 
unnecessary loss of wages to the men and material injury to the 
cause of labor and the community at large. 

But the great employer of labor contends that every demand 
for an increase made is of the last variety. Witness for instance 
the acts of the Coal Trust and its emissaries before the Commis- 
sion appointed by the President to investigate conditions in the 
mines. Beaten and baffled at every turn, shown to have been 
guilty of intimidation, perjury and even worse crimes, forcing 
the strike so as to raise the price of coal, Baer, its head, had the 
audacity to speak of Divinity having placed the coal regions in 
the hands of himself and co-conspirators for the benefit of man- 
kind. And now they are endeavoring to cheat the people, the 
President and the Commission by evading the conditions of the 
latter's award. Compare the manly, courageous, open-handed 
conduct of John Mitchell, the mine worker, all through the strike 
and investigation, with that of Baer, head of the trust, and say 
who is the Anarchist. 

The trend of the day is certainly toward socialism in a marked 
degree. Men who twenty years ago would have laughed at such 
a thing as folly, are today urging the public ownership of public 
utilities. The community which owns its own waterworks is not 

24 



paying tribute to a band of financiers or confidence operators 
who demand dividends upon stock which contains more water 
than their reservoirs. If your city or village does its own light- 
ing by gas or electricity, it is not being met with threatened op- 
position from some striker who has purchased a franchise from 
a boodle board of aldermen or trustees. Street railways now-a- 
days are paying rentals for limited franchises instead of obtain- 
ing valuable grants in perpetuity for nothing, to be leased for a 
high rental to sorne newer corporation. 

And as conditions are improved by each such instance, so 
grows the hope that soon all public utilities will be under govern- 
ment control. 

The trouble has been with most people that they were not will- 
ing to become acquainted with the modern type of socialism. 
Too often has it been confounded with the radicalism of the 
foreign theorist, and some of the ignorant and unthinking are 
quite ready to confuse it with its dread antithesis — anarchy. The 
former should be read, studied and digested by every thinking 
man and woman in this republic. The latter has no place in this 
or any other country and its unholy tenets and their professors 
should be scourged from the earth. 

I have spoken of the iniquitous Coal Trust and its methods as 
exposed before the Investigation Commission. And yet it is not 
one whit worse than the Beef Trust which comers all the avail- 
able meat in the country and forces the same to unreasonable 
prices, thereby filching from the pockets of the poor to fill the 
coffers of those already enriched by years of such legalized rob- 
bery. 

Think of the greatest of all trusts, the Standard Oil, which 
fought its way to the top by crushing out competition, blowing 
up rival plants with deadly explosives, and not even hesitating at 
murder, which facts stand proven upon the records. Its principal 
owner turns his eyes to heaven, adds another cent to the price 
per gallon and then endows another church or university and is 
hailed as the friend of religion and learning. Think too of the 
Steel Trust, financed by the great underwriter or underwritten by 
the great financier, which every few years can permit a head to 
retire with countless millions to found libraries in this and some 
other countries. I never read of a library gift of this kind but 
the memory comes back of the poor Homestead strikers, asking 
for an increase of wages only to be shot down by armed imported 
thugs of the Pinkerton variety. This is the money wrung from 
the sweat of those poor toilers which is founding libraries with 
the idea of perpetuating the greatness of the donor and his name. 

2.5 



And yet there are those who tell us that the trusts are not a 
menace to the future prosperity of the land, that they are benefi- 
cent institutions, born of divine wisdom and intended to relieve 
mankind. Therein lies the danger of the republic, and if ways 
are not found to curb them, we may fear an uprising from the 
trenches which will some day submerge this land in a deluge of 
fury, blood and destruction far worse than the French revolution 
of 1793. If it comes,, its stay rpay be short, but its execution will 
be terrible. The prevention of such a revolution lies in the curb- 
ing of the trusts and the sooner it is accomplished the better, not 
only for America but for all mankind. 

Let us hope that scene will never be enacted, the curtains 
never drawn to unveil that picture. That the Hand of Destiny 
which has guided our Nation through all the dangers and pitfalls 
of the past will ever be upon the helm of State and steer the 
good old craft into harbors of safety when tempests arise. That 
those who are entrusted with the task of ruling may always find 
the wisest course and avoid any dangers which threaten. That 
the honor and glory of our beautiful flag may remain unsullied 
until the end of time. 

Gaze at it as it floats so grandly in the air. Is it any wonder 
that the man, woman or child born beneath its folds or who has 
been enrolled by voluntary act under its protection becomes en- 
raptured at the sight. Who has heard the singing of "The Star 
Spangled Banner" and not felt the blood leap through his or her 
veins? Who has not given the echoing shout and shared in the 
sympathetic blur with Whitcomb Riley when he sang "Old 
Glory," 

"And seeing you fly and the boys marching by, 
There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye. 
And an aching to live for you always — or die, 
If dying, we still keep you waving on high." 

That flag is not only the hope and pride of the eighty million 
Americans of today, but of the innumerable hosts yet unborn. 
Thanks to the Grand Army of the Republic and other patriotic 
societies, the school child is taught to revere it while learning to 
lisp the letfers of the alphabet. The little girl murmurs in gentle 
tones, "We turn to our flag as the flowers turn to the light." The 
boy shouts back in lusty voice, 

"The red says be brave. 
The white says be pure. 
The blue says be true." 

And so the first lesson of patriotism and love for the flag has 

26 



been instilled in the youthful breast never to be eradicated. But 
patriotism and respect for the rights of others will not alone save 
the Republic. Rugged honesty and morality lie far away and 
beyond these as the basic elements to be used in the foundation 
of the national character. The sickening spectacles presented in 
the past by one political party in New York, the rottenness of 
today as exemplified by the other in Philadelphia, the criminality 
of both in the City of St. Louis and State of Missouri, the ad- 
ministrative frauds in Cuba, and the gross scandals of the postal 
department make the heart sick, and the promoters, aiders and 
abettors of every form of public villainy should be pilloried and 
scourged. Decency demands that every participator in crimes of 
this kind should not only be driven from public life but placed 
behind prison bars. The public pulse should not only be quick- 
ened in this respect, that proper instruction and inspiration may 
be given the young, but the sacredness of the ties of home should 
be given newer and stronger safeguards. Congress has refused 
a seat to the Mormon polygamist chosen by one political party, 
now let the Senate show its honesty of purpose and debar the 
fellow bearing the other brand. Mormonism has no politics, and 
only assumes the cloak of party to further its own schemes of 
power and aggrandizement. The question of diyorce is reach- 
ing that stage where national legislation must sooner or later be 
enacted. For the good of the future generations, the young 
should be taught that ties of this kind are not to be laid aside at 
will and therefore should not be entered into until after mature 
deliberation. 

With the best endeavors to avert the dangers mentioned, with 
the inculcation of principles of truth, honor, justice and right in 
the minds of coming generations, the United States shall march 
on, proudly and gallantly, as before; stooping only to assist the 
fallen and distressed of nations ; never flinching, never wavering, 
with Old Glory flapping its untarnished silken folds in the breeze, 
unconquerable in peace or war; the leader in trade, commerce 
and manufacture ; the ruler of the wave, continuing to grow and 
prosper until it shall be conceded by every nation to be the great- 
est world power. 

With the hope that such may be the accomplishment of our 
national aims, we make the poet's admonition our fervent prayer, 

"Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! 

Sail on, O union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, • 
With all the hopes of future years, 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 

27 



In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee." 



28 



PYTHIAN MEMORIAL DAY. 

June 6, 1901. 

Address Delivered at the Rathbone Monument, New Forest 
Cemetery, Utica, N. Y. 

Brothers in Pythian Knighthood : Thirty-seven years ago from 
out a kindly heart grew the inspiration which gave birth to the 
Order of the Knights of Pythias. The restrictions and limita- 
tions placed about admission to the membership have been in ex- 
cess of those of other similar organizations. And yet so marvel- 
ous has been its growth, that today it numbers nearly half a 
million American citizens in its ranks. That there is something 
above the ordinary about its principles to thus attract member- 
ship, is plain to every one. That it is destined to have a wonder- 
ful influence upon the future is apparent to its devotees and fast 
becoming so to those outside its pale. Friendship, charity and 
benevolence, its symbols, express some of the best human emo- 
tions. Founded upon such tenets, and with its motto, "Esto 
perpetua," the world cannot doubt that it is to remain forever. 

Its founder, Justus H. Rathbone, to perpetuate whose memory 
yonder monument was built by loving hands, was a simple, un- 
assuming man, who believed in true friendship and sought to 
inculcate that and other human virtues. Just at the close of the 
war between brothers, in which the most unusual scenes of strife 
the world had ever witnessed had occurred, when because of 
those scenes and many vicissitudes, the older societies were bad- 
ly crippled, the bark of Pythianism was launched upon the waters 
of fraternity, and smoothly plowed its way to popularity and 
prosperity. It was the balm that healed many wounds. Its 
strides were rapid, its growth sublime. 

Today in accordance with custom and Pythian law, we have 
assembled to pay our tribute of respect to the man who gave this 
idea birth, and to keep green the memories of our own former 
associates, who have passed to the great beyond. In these two 
cemeteries, here on the hillside, rest the bones of many great 
men — men .who have left their impress upon American history — 
aye upon modern civilization. In these, not only the citizens of 
our own locality, but of the state and nation, take pardonable 
pride. And yet as time passes, many of these may be forgotten, 
but he whose workmanship laid the keel of our great frater- 
nity, shall grow in memory and in greatness, and so continue, 
after many of the great incidents and marvelous giants of this 
and preceding generations "shall have sunk down the afternoon 
of history and the twilight of tradition, and been swallowed up in 

29 



the thick night of obHvion." He had a purpose and a mission. 
The purpose was accomplished, the mission is being fulfilled by 
the best types of American manhood extant. 

The beautiful custom of "Memorial Day," gotten up by the 
living soldiers in honor of their valiant dead, has taken deep root 
on this continent of ours, and each of several great fraternities 
is doing its best to improve and beautify the same. Its incep- 
tion was a natural consequence of the ancient custom to show 
honor to departed friends. It comes from one of the most beau- 
tiful emotions the human soul has ever known, and radiates in 
every direction, ennobling the living participants, and strewing 
fragrant roses upon the memory of the dead. The savage had 
his rude ceremonies and mounds, and each improved type of 
humanity has shown greater and better thoughts and actions 
towards its departed, until today we embalm their memory in 
song and story, the most lasting monuments which can be built. 
Stone and iron which now are massive and imposing, may in a 
few decades be crumbling and decayed, but the beauties of spoken 
and written language are unyielding and imperishable. The poet 
said: 

"Be noble! 

And the nobleness which lies in other men, 

Sleeping, but never dead, shall rise 

In majesty to meet thine own." 

True nobility of character emphasized the founder of the 
Knights of Pythias, and shines through every page of its rit- 
ualistic work. To him who follows its beauties upon each occa- 
sion of display to the novice, it grows more and more beautiful, 
bringing out that nobleness "which lies sleeping, but never dead." 
It cannot fail to impress each that by his acts and deeds the world 
can be made better and brighter. 

Though we are members of three separate branches of the same 
parent organization, we gather here reverently as one to pay our 
respects to him who brought our fraternity into being. And as 
Uticans, we are proud that he was a native son of Utica, and that 
his remains have found their last resting-place within sight of the 
city of his birth. No more beautiful or appropriate spot could 
have been selected. There is handsome little Utica, resting be- 
tween the hills, and the winding Mohawk on its mission to the 
sea. To the west and almost within view, is the historic battle 
ground of Oriskany, at which gallant old Gen. Herkimer drove 
back "diminished and dispersed" St. Leger's pillaging Indian and 
Tory bands. Had that battle resulted differently there might 
have been a co-operation between the defeated hordes of the Eng- 

30 



lish general and the cohorts of Burgoyne in the vicinity of Sara- 
toga, which would undoubtedly have changed the fate of this 
nation. And a little further to the west was Fort Stanwix where 
it is claimed that the first American flag fluttered to the breeze. 
I have digressed. But to one who was born amid these sur- 
roundings, the glow of enthusiastic Americanism must burst forth 
in flame, when his mind turns to the beautiful scenes and the 
sublime memories of the Mohawk Valley. 

And when by the beautiful and impressive, yet simple ceremo- 
nies of today, we shall have testified our grateful appreciation 
that Justus H, Rathbone lived and brought into existence the 
Pythian Order, then each as separate organizations shall march to 
the graves of our own hallowed dead, the friends of recent years 
who suddenly faded from our vision and whose memory we shall 
ever hold sacred, and deposit our emblems of tribute and devo- 
tion to those whom soon it shall be our fate to join 

"Beyond the rock waste and the river, 
Beyond the frost chain and the fever, 
Beyond the ever and the never." 



31 



ADOPTED AND NATIVE SONS. 

Utica Sunday Tribune, June 12, 1898. 

At Friday evening's meeting of the Common Council the fol- 
lowing petition was presented, through Aid. Weimer: 

To the Honorable the Common Council of the City of Utica: 

The undersigned, with many others, knowing that the natives 
of the City of Utica will never have gumption enough to organ- 
ize an association of their own, and firmly believing that even 
should they do so, the number of hammers present and in use 
would result in its early disintegration, have formed an organiza- 
tion to be known as "The Adopted Sons of Utica." 

We have agreed to have some sort of a demonstration on July 
4th, and to our way of thinking the best manner of carrying out 
this programme would be to make the leading feature a lawn fete 
at Chancellor Square in the afternoon and a yellow tea in the 
City Hall in the evening. We therefore request your honorable 
body to give us the sole and exclusive right to use and occupy 
both places and the whole thereof on said day. 

In order to disarm any adverse criticism which may arise in 
the Council or elsewhere we desire to call your attention to our 
office-holding strength : 

Mayor from Canada; Surveyor from Philadelphia; Treasurer 
from Clayville; Corporation Counsel from Frankfort Hill; 
Health Officer from Montreal ; Registrar of Vital Statistics from 
Port Leyden ; City Judge from Oriskany Falls ; Special City 
Judge from Litchfield; City Court Clerk from Stockwell; Board 
of Assessors from England and Germany with its North of Ire- 
land Clerk; Charity Clerk from Florence; Justices of the Peace 
from Lee and Marcy; Chairman of the Police Board from 
Marcy, and two recent appointees on the force from Winfield 
and Watertown; President of the Council from Albany; Demo- 
cratic leader from Lowell, Mass., and Republican from New 
York City ; Chairman Public Buildings and Grounds from Wales, 
which also produced and sent us, about eight years ago, our As- 
semblyman. And there are others. 

In addition to those now in office, a gentleman from North 
Brookfield who lately resigned as Justice of the Peace, owing to 
his ardous duties in holding down several other offices, has the 
ear of the Republican boss and receives all the crumbs which the 
favorites of the latter have to bestow, while the Democratic mas- 
ter has only eyes for the last Corporation Counsel, who trans- 
ferred his lustre from the town of Winfield to the Democratic 
Club. 

32 



We are a majority of the Chamber of Commerce, and nearly 
every other organization in your city, and the membership com- 
mittees and the powerful black ball serve to keep out the undesir- 
able natives. We conduct most of your successful business enter- 
prises and only patronize those so conducted. We minister to 
your spiritual wants, heal your sick, try your cases, edit your 
newspapers, bury your dead. If there is any branch in which we 
do not excel, immediate steps will be taken to remedy the defect. 

An appropriation of several hundred dollars would be greatly 
appreciated. We could then have music by the Waterville Band, 
and buy red fire for the Rome base ball rooters who have agreed 
to march up Genesee Street in a body that night to create a little 
enthusiasm. Some of the loose change could be utilized to quench 
their thirsts at Tygart's, Friede's, Gomm's and the other cara- 
vansaries kept by Adopted Sons upon the route. 

Knowing that only one-third of your honorable body ever own 
up to Utica as a birthplace, and firmly believing that they will 
soon be replaced, as well as your clerk and his assistant, by some 
of our members, we strenuously urge upon you the granting of 
the permissions hereby sought and the passage of the appropria- 
tion above mentioned. 

Utica, N. Y., June 10, 1898. 
The Adopted Sons of Utica, by their Officers, Robert Obaniel, 
President; Patrick Wallace, First Vice President; Isaac D. 
Jones, Second Vice President ; Charles (his X mark) Gold- 
man, Secretary; Paolo Mangano, Treasurer. 

There is considerable point to the petition, though of course it 
was intended as a burlesque. 

Upon presentation of the above. President Beatty said it would 
be referred to James K. O'Connor. Yesterday the following was 
filed: 

To the Honorable, the Common Council of the City of Utica: 

The morning papers of this date contain mention of a digni- 
fied reference of a communication from the Adopted Sons of 
Utica, by the President of the Common Council to one "Scotchy" 
O'Connor. I presume the reference was intended for me, inas- 
much as a Utica birthright was one of my misfortunes, and at the 
advanced age of six years a nickname was acquired by reason of 
one winter's wear of a Highland cap with streamers. The fact 
that every boy then in the school attended carried a nickname 
long since discarded appears to have had no effect in this one 
instance, for while the natives who bestowed the name have let 

33 



it drop, the new arrivals insist upon using it, many of them with 
a sneering elevation of the nose. 

The average man has been permitted no choice in the selection 
of his birthplace or his parentage. There may be those who 
would gladly conceal both, but with me pride forbids. No better 
birthplace and no better parents could have be^n selected had 
Nature left the job in my own hands. 

The accident of birth should never debar any American citizen 
from rights or privileges held by any other citizen, and in this 
sex cuts no figure, for I am a believer in woman suffrage. But 
the Utican born and bred should also be accorded equal rights 
with the other fellow. "Knocking" of any kind does no good. 
Each of us should join the "boosters" instead. If the Council 
cannot get along with the Mayor, quietly ignore him. As to the 
Mayor, why a few splenetic vetoes now and then relieve his sys- 
tem and make him a better man and citizen. The last word is 
used in its fullest sense, for I have no use for those who buy 
gold bricks and then yell "Police!" "Help!" 

But let us get down to that Fourth of July celebration. Every 
town, hamlet and cross-roads in the country is making prepara- 
tions for a grand Fourth of July demonstration. My local pride 
has to suffer when the sight of sleepy old Utica, nodding and 
dozing in its chair presents itself. Pride in its past is a great 
thing to have, but no man or town will ever succeed with its face 
to the rear. Reminiscences should be left for cold winter nights 
when we have nothing else to do. The kind of water with which 
a mill grinds is proverbial. Another poet disposed of the past 
and future each in a single line, and made a great hit by exhort- 
ing his readers to "act in the living present." Dreams of future 
greatness will put little flour in the barrel today. 

I would go on and attempt to get up the Fourth of July cele- 
bration alone, but knowledge that a cry would immediately go up 
from a chorus of ten thousand throats, "He's in it for what he can 
get out of it," forbids. My recent experience in the recruiting 
line satisfied my curiosity upon that point. The others whose 
curiosity has not been satisfied can have a peep at the receipted 
bills for expenditures incurred, by calling any day at 20 Weaver 
Building. 

The Chamber of Commerce could most reasonably be expected 
to do something in the matter of a glorification, but their time is 
largely taken up in fostering new "enterprises," from a majority 
of which the benefits received are largely on paper. 

Today the land is ablaze with patriotism. Nowhere should 

34 



the Fourth of July mean more than right here in Utica. Due 
observance of the day would bring thousands of people from ad- 
joining places to our beautiful city, and they would not come, as 
do most convention attenders, "with a two-dollar bill and a clean 
shirt, neither of which they change." Untold money would be 
spent with the people from whom we always expect to collect, 
when any contributions are needed, and from them it would soon 
be scattered through many other channels, thus assisting every 
branch of trade. 

Trusting that my feeble efforts will have awakened renewed 
pride of birth in our native sons (and daughters), extended pride 
of locality in our Adopted Sons, and an unquenchable fire of 
American patriotism and a desire to properly celebrate Independ- 
ence Day within the heart of every man, woman and child, who 
resides within sound of the City Hall bell, (and those within a 
radius of 100 miles need not be barred either,) this report is most 
respectfully submitted to your honorable body, by 

James Keegan O'Connor, 

Native Son. 

Utica, June 11, 1898. 




35 



RED MEN'S MEMORIAL DAY. 

Address Delivered at Syracuse, N. Y., October 30, 1904. 

Seated about a council fire where the glowing of the embers 
has given place to the somber shadows of night, gathered to pay 
tribute to the memories of loved and departed brethren, at this 
time well may we ask what is the tie that binds us together in the 
strong grasp of fraternity. 

"Watchman, what of the night ?" is a query as old as humanity 
itself. "Red Men, what of your labors?" is the query we pro- 
pound from day to day to our chosen chiefs, and upon their 
truthful answers depends in a large measure the question of their 
future advancement in the Order. 

Fraternity is not a novel proposition. Away back in the days 
of the cradling of the human race, men felt compelled to unite 
themselves in tribes and bands for better protection from hostile 
fellow-beings and ferocious animals. And from such unions of 
men arose rude forms of law and religion. Time slowly worked 
its wonders of betterment, the cave and the hut were supplanted 
by newer conditions, each in turn an improvement upon the other, 
until today feudalism and paganism have given way to those 
magnificent superstructures. Constitutionalism and Christianity. 
Man left to his own resources and cut ofif from all the rest of the 
world is bound to degenerate. "Experience teaches," was an 
ancient proverb ere the dawn of the Christian era. He who is 
compelled to walk alone in the pathway of life, secures but little 
experience. Childhood is taught, to adopt a phrase of the gifted 
and eloquent Ingersoll, "by want and wish and contact with the 
things that touch the dimpled flesh of babes," and we, the children 
of a larger growth, learn all that we know from contact and 
association. 

Today fraternity is the most potent force for good in the land. 
Men are taught by it to be truthful, to be honest, to be charitable, 
to be forgiving, and to respect the rights, opinions and property 
of others. No man ever joined a fraternity and faithfully fol- 
lowed its doctrines, principles and precepts without becoming a 
better man, a better citizen, a better husband and a better father. 
Of course there are black sheep in the ranks, — they manage to 
get in everywhere. Of course, there are those who make mis- 
takes, — infallibility was never an attribute of humanity. But yet 
taken by and large, the fraternities have done this world a great 
deal of good. Time was, and not so long ago, when even in this 
free land of ours, fraternal organizations were looked upon some- 
what in the nature of outlaw bands. But the good that has been 
done in their name has worn away the prejudice of other days, 

36 



and in this day and age the man who wears not the button or 
emblem of an order is a very lonesome specimen indeed. 

One of the largest fraternities in point of numbers and the 
largest of purely American origin is the Improved Order of Red 
Men. Under the protecting folds of its waving banner, nearly 
four hundred thousand American citizens find shelter. Only 
beneath the starry flag is it permitted by its laws to exist, and no 
man may seek admission who is not an American citizen or has 
not duly and legally declared his intention of becoming such. 
This then is the greatest reason why it appeals to the young men 
of our land, those who feel and know that the grandest boast 
which man may utter is "I am an American citizen." Its only 
restrictions upon admission are that the applicant be a white man, 
of full age and understanding, sound of body and mind and of 
good moral character. There is no room for political discussion 
of any kind within its border, and the only time that a subject 
approaching the matter of religion is introduced is when the 
applicant is asked to affirm his belief in the existence of a 
.Supreme Being, without which affirmation he cannot be adopted 
into a tribe of the Order. Bigot and intolerant find here no 
welcome. 

"As you enter their wigwam, so you depart — a free man," has 
long been the motto of the Red Men, and every man who has 
passed the outer wicket knows that to be a solemn truth. The 
Americanism of the order is the true American spirit which 
breathes fervid patriotism in every word and every line and 
stands for equal rights for all, and not the false article which 
would deny to others the very benefits we seek ourselves. When 
the call to arms sounded in '98, from every tribe went forth men, 
brave and true, to respond in their country's hour of need. 

The Improved Order of Red Men traces its ancestry back to 
and beyond the days of the Revolution. Its every impulse has 
been patriotic from the time of the "Liberty Boys," who under 
the rallying cry of "Freedom" and the leadership of Paul Revere, 
threw overboard the tea in Boston Harbor. To them and their 
gallant leader are ascribed some of the bravest deeds of the 
Revolution. That watchword, "Freedom" has never once been 
lost from sight, and is today the foremost of the symbolic words 
used by the members of the Improved Order of Red Men in their 
intercourse with each other. To that has been added "Friend- 
ship" and "Charity" which are the true foundation stones of 
fraternalism. 

What are our aims? We strive to make better men, better 
citizens, better Americans of all. To uplift mankind, to alleviate 

37 



distress, to aid the worthy, to increase respect for law and order, 
to give "honor to whom honor is due," in short to 

"Leave behind us 
"Footprints on the sands of time, 
"Footprints that perhaps another 
"Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
"A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, 
"Seeing shall take heart again." 

No man so well understands the motives and principles of 
fraternity, no man so well appreciates "the Brotherhood of Man 
and the Fatherhood of God," as one who has been down at the 
heel, with empty pocket and empty stomach, in a land filled with 
strangers, all of whom pass him by carelessly, unthinkingly, and 
then, in the midst of despair, has found a brother willing to 
supply his temporary wants and send him on his way rejoicing. 

No man values the friendships of f raternalism more highly than 
one who has been warned through its means of a dangerous pitfall 
in his pathway prepared by an enemy, or one who has been cau- 
tioned through the same agency and kept from the performance 
of some rash act, liable to disgrace himself and loved ones and 
bring discredit upon all connected with him. To such men fra- 
ternity unfolds itself in its purest, brightest light, and the mem- 
ory thus created clings even unto death. 

Man is at best a selfish animal. The traces of ages spent by 
his ancestry in savagery have not yet been effaced by a few 
centuries of so-called civilization. We must be weaned away 
from selfishness, be taught to think of the comforts of others, to 
forget ourselves now and then so that some other image than 
the one depicted in our mirror may find an odd moment in our 
thoug-hts. The man who "has no time" to join an organization is 
generally engrossed with thoughts of self alone. He is the type 
of man who spreads ruin and desolation in his wake when vested 
with power, and who struggles to that power over the bones of 
fallen comrades, many of them stricken down by his own intrigue, 
without ever experiencing a single pang. Fraternity would teach 
him something purer, higher, better, holier than such a course, 
but such teachings are the very ones his sordid nature would 
avoid. He lends no helping hand to woe or want or misery, 
rather does he gloat over the misfortunes of the downcast. In- 
spired by no gentleness of heart, moved by no tender feeling, 
sympathy to him unknown and unknowable, such a man passes 
through life with only the short-'term "friends" produced by 
money and power, who fade away when either or both have 
disappeared, and in the end he 



"Goes down 
"To the foul dust from which he sprung, 
Upwept, unhonored and unsung." 

Contrast such a life with one the pages of which are filled with 
noble acts, generous deeds, kindly words and items of self- 
sacrifice innumerable. Heroes are not alone found on battle 
fields or at posts of danger. There is scarcely a day passes in 
the life of noble and generous men and women, but some deed 
has been done, some act performed, that can be classed as true 
heroism, and yet the doer thereof looks upon it only as common- 
place, and too often is the world inclined to accept such things 
at the valuation placed thereon by the person entitled to the 
credit. 

To the warlike, the famous stanza of Barry, the Irish poet, 
appeals with a striking force. 

"Whether on the scaffold high, 
"Or in the battle's van, 
"The fittest place for man to die, 
"Is where he dies for man." 

But f raternalism says "Live for man !" For by living we can 
each day contrive to do something whereby those about us may 
be uplifted. Every blow at the chains of darkness which encircle 
the forms of many of our neighbors, is one step nearer the light 
for them. Every smile upon our faces draws forth an answering 
smile from some other face where perchance a frown might have 
rested. Every drop of water on a fevered brow or a parched 
tongue begets one more grateful impulse, and the human being 
with gratitude in the heart wears a benignant face. Therefore to 
live for the living and to give to the living all the sunshine and 
flowers we may be able to bestow is one of the aims of the Im- 
proved Order of Red Men. 

Our objects? Ask you. We watch beside the bed of the 
suffering, we feed the hungry, we clothe the naked, we give to 
the needy, we bury the dead with simple yet solemn rites acknowl- 
edged by all to be the most beautiful performed by any of the 
fraternities. And when a brother has entered Death's mystic 
portal our duties have not ended. We do not permit his widow 
to want, nor are his children allowed to starve either in mind or 
body. The Great Council of the United States, in which body it 
has been my privilege for many years to sit as a member, has 
provided for an Orphans Fund, and a portion of the per capita 
tax levied each year is set aside for the purposes of that fund, 
thus supplying a living and a chance to obtain a good common 
school education to the needy orphans of deceased Red Men. 

39 



We give no charity in the "hand-out" sense. The benevolence 
extended belongs to every member as a matter of right because 
of his membership. Whenever there is a case of sickness, no 
matter what may be the brother's standing in the world at large, 
he is entitled to the same benefits as his neighbor. And when the 
Grim Destroyer has crossed his threshold, the same death benefit 
is paid without a murmur, whether the trimmings of his coffin be 
of the most costly purple or of the cheapest satin. 

Aims, objects and purposes ? Aye, we have enough and to spare. 
Summed up all in all, it may well be said that Redmanship 
lives "for the good that it may do." Now and then the curious 
and the self seeking drop into the harness and hitch themselves to 
our cart, but they do not last long. The first admonition, "Let 
not selfish motives e'er restrain the generous impulse of a noble 
deed," gfates as harshly upon their ears as did ever the words of 
the Magnificat upon the ears of Robert of Sicily. They may pass 
the ordeals and come out as a brave man should for a time, but 
they fall by the wayside at last, unless the alchemy of f raternalism 
burns off the baser dross of their make-up in the crucible of 
freedom and reduces the remainder to that pure gold which re- 
flects only true friendship and charity. 

Is it any wonder that such an organization finds recruits every- 
where beneath American skies? In the far-ofif mountain fast- 
nesses of Alaska, where eternal snows gaze down unpityingly and 
unceasingly upon the adventurous American seeking to charm 
from its hidden recesses the precious yellow metal, council fires 
of the Improved Order of Red Men are lighted every week, not 
one, but several. In the salubrious climate of the Hawaiian 
Islands, two tribes flourish. In the new possessions the Order 
followed the flag and the Philippine Islands glory in five tribes, 
mosit of whose members were adopted into the Order before 
leaving home for those distant isles. The States and Territories 
are all represented. "Maryland, my Maryland," was up and at it 
in the early stages, for it was there the Improved Order was born 
seventy years ago from the scattered remnants of the parent or- 
ganizations. Virginia, "the mother of Presidents," has been to 
us likewise the mother state of the heads of our Order, furnishing 
many of the Great Incohonees. Pennsylvania too is the "key- 
stone" of Redmanship, leading the van with sixty thousand 
braves, while Indiana and New York each swing into line with 
close to 40,000 more. "Even in the Everglades" of Florida gleam 
our council fires while the "pine clad hills of Maine" send back an 
echoing shout. Texas, thoug'h late in arriving within the fold, has 
passed many of her older neighbors, while California, "the land 

40 



of the setting sun and the Native Son," is well up in the five-figure 
class. On the arid plains of Arizona, in the lumber camps of 
Michigan, up amid the Coeur d' Alenes in Idaho, beneath the 
palmetto's shade in the old South state, in the Back Bay District 
of Boston, beside the levees of Louisiana, within sight of the 
myriad wonders of St. Louis's Fair, answering "What cheer?" 
in little Rhody, "where rolls the Oregon," aye, even in "Darkest 
Chicago" have been spread the great truths taught by the gospel 
of Redmanship, and loving hands join nightly about its burning 
council brand to carry out in their best and highest meaning the 
great workings of the Order, and to inculcate in new breasts a 
love for its teachings. 

Steadily, marvelously has it grown. Once a little sapling in 
the fraternal field, today it is a mighty oak able to withstand the 
ravages of any storm. The pride we take in it is a just one, 
which shall endure for all time. 

Its missions are not all sad ones. Often does it bring joyous 
tidings, (of which at such a time and place as this it might not 
do to speak.) Suffice it to say that pleasure and enjoyment are 
not forgotten. Many fraternities bear my name upon their rolls, 
but nowhere else have I found more genial, whole-souled, Com- 
panionable people than in the ranks of the Red Men. A sort of 
camaraderie exists among the membership found scarcely any- 
where else than between the men who have endured together the 
hardships of the tented field. 

And when a good man is "gathered to the hunting grounds of 
his fathers," as we express it in the language of our aboriginal 
prototypes, in no other body of men does one see deeper ex- 
pressions of sorrow than with the Red Men. This beautiful 
ceremonial of today, arranged in accordance with laws several 
great suns ago promulgated by the Great Council of the United 
States, brings vividly to our minds and hearts the virtues of our 
dead brethren. This "Council of Sorrow" reawakens the memory 
that we are all of earth, — earthy, that our days are but few at 
best, and that "with every swing of the pendulum a soul goes into 
eternity." 

Read, ponder, reflect. Let the lesson of today sink deeply into 
each heart beating beneath this roof. The Indian of old said, 
"The honest and brave man meets death with a smile." It is our 
boast that we emulate his bravery, that our Order is based upon 
his good qualities and that from his virtues we draw the inspira- 
tion for much of our secret work. It is a grand and a noble idea 
to say g-ood things of the dead, but why not of the living? Many 
a man and woman has gone to the grave broken-hearted followed 

41 



by a wagon-load of flowers and eulogized even to fulsomeness by 
cleric and editor, to whom a few kind words and a rose or two 
at the proper time might have furnished a renewal of the lease 
of life. 

History teaches us that all upon this earth save language is 
mortal. And so in literature and song we must embalm our dead, 
if we would have their memories survive. Marble pillars crum- 
ble and decay, mausoleums fall to ruin, the sleeping places of the 
mighty of past ages are forgotten. The mortality thus shown 
upon every hand teaches us that we can but preserve the mem- 
ories of our departed friends in imperishable language. And let 
the words spoken contain only the truth and mention only that 
of our departed brethren which is good and wholesome and which 
will tend to elevate and beautify their memories. 

And so when it comes the turn of others to commemorate our 
virtues as we today commemorate those of the departed may 
there be nothing weak or frail to conceal or extenuate, may the 
open books of our lives read as would one whose every day of 
existence had been spent in consonance with the closing words of 
William Cullen Bryant's masterpiece : 

"So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
"The innumerable caravan, which moves 
"To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
"His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
"Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, 
"Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
"By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
"Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
"About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 




42 



WELCOME TO THE RETURNING SOLDIERS. 

April 24, 1899. 

Company G 203 N. Y. Volunteer Infantry and Company K 

202 N. Y. Volunteer Infantry. 

"O, for the touch of a vanished hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still." 

Utica's most distinguished citizen, some twenty years ago, in 
response to that which he would describe as a "halcyon and 
vociferous welcome" upon his return from a trip to foreign lands, 
said : "To me there is no country like America ; no state like New 
York; no valley like the Mohawk; no county like Oneida; no 
city like Utica." 

Roscoe Conkling sleeps beneath the turf on yonder hillside, but 
the sentiment he expressed on that occasion will live so long as 
there is a city of Utica, so long as there are men and women 
resident here blessed with civic pride, the blood in whose veins 
can be stirred by such utterances. 

Possibly there have been moments in the lives of some of you 
returned volunteers when that declaration seemed far-fetched, 
but when you heard again the clang of the city hall bell after an 
absence of many months, all doubts were dissipated. Other re- 
turning temporary absentees voted the sound of that bell under 
similar circumstances to be the grandest of music, while their 
bosoms labored with that sweetly sad and sadly sweet feeling 
which fills the eyes with tears, but the heart with joy. 

Wherever you have been we did not forget you. You have 
been uppermost in our thoughts, whether in camp in your own or 
an adjoining state or in the lands which in school boy days we 
heard designated as "the Sunny South" and "Cuba's tropic isle." 
Many other idyllic visions of youth have no doubt been shattered 
by this trip, but it has taught some things in the stern reality line, 
which in after years must prove of inestimable value. Nowhere 
else than by close association upon the tented field does man 
become so well fitted to judge of his fellows. True metal will 
there crop out. Craft is bound to drop its mask in unthinking 
moments. The obsequious cringer becomes an object of contempt 
and loathing. Manhood is now and then compelled to bow be- 
neath a heavy burden, while brazen idols shine for a time as 
burnished gold. But "it all comes out in the wash." 

Though many leagues have stretched between us, we at home 
have been able to look into your hearts, and though never a mur- 

43 



mur on the one side or a grumble on the other reached the 
surface, 

"Our hopes, our fears, 
Our prayers, our tears. 
Were all with ye." 

And do not think that men alone experienced those feelings. 
The handsomest women in the world were yearning for your 
return and received you with open arms. That statement need 
not be qualified in any particular, for in every land they concede 
that America furnishes the most beautiful women, and I have 
traveled in and through thirty-five States of this Union and 
several of its territories; — I have gazed upon beauty amid 
Canada's glittering ice palaces and while trudging over Mexico's 
desert plains, I have observed the beautiful Creoles of Louisiana, 
the marvelous women of the South, the visions of loveliness to 
be seen in that vast Empire of the Pacific which stretches from 
Siskiyou to San Diego and from the Sierras to the sea, the buxom 
lassies to be found in the North and Middle West, but nowhere, — 
nowhere in all my travels, have I met more handsome women in 
a day's walk than right here in our own beloved Utica. 

In the ranks of each company are men of the Twenty-eighth 
Separate Company, some of them comrades who served with me 
in the old days under Captain Remmer, the noblest and kindliest 
commander who ever led a body of men on a field or o&. That 
your comrades of the Twenty-eighth did not forget you or either 
of their old commanders. Major Remmer and Captain Hors- 
burgh, was evidenced by that most magnificent event of recent 
years, the Military Carnival, which netted such a handsome sum 
to be divided between the companies. 

The Board of Supervisors of Oneida County, which I have the 
honor to serve in an official capacity, with kindly intent 
stretched the law a little and provided for the return home and 
burial of the bodies of those who died in the service. Tonight 
there is but one vacant chair among those for whom this banquet 
was intended — and he, my boyhood's playmate, poor Nick Schug 
— but other organizations from this locality were more afflicted. 
Our chief regret at this moment is that we cannot say, "None 
of plague or battle died." Your friends at home would have been 
proud had the opportunity been given to display your valor upon 
the battle field, and yet now we are selfish enough to be glad that 
such was not the case, for while some might have achieved a 
little transient earthly glory, others would be filling heroes' 
graves. We know that you would have remembered the Maine, 
for many of the names upon your muster rolls indicate a kinship 

44 



with the crew so foully done to death in Havana harbor fourteen 
months since, and with the gallant Sixty-ninth, which if placed 
in the Santiago campaign instead of another regiment would have 
left the prowess of New York Volunteers higher in the estimation 
of the world today. 

When the "nation's hour of peril and need" came last year, the 
telegraph supplied the place of Paul Revere and his fleet steed, 
and the call to arms met with a lusty "Here!" from the throats 
of two million American yeomen, when service could be found 
for only one-tenth of that number. This proved that American- 
ism is the same today as ever in the past, and that our young men 
will always be ready to follow that emblem of liberty which Dr. 
Drake so beautifully apostrophized : 

"Flag of the free heart's hope and home. 
By angel hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 
And all thy hues were born of heaven." 

To Kelly, to Burke, to Shay, — aye, and to Shanley, too — to 
each and every officer and man from Utica and vicinity in the 
two regiments, I would like to announce in the most fervid terms, 
our heartfelt gladness over your return. You come from the 
ranks, you are of the common people. Thank God, so am I. 
The hearts of the great mass of the common people have been 
with you in every movement since the day you left home. Words 
can but feebly express our feelings toward you now. Even our 
vivid demonstrations failed to give those feelings a proper vent. 
There is no adequate phrase with which to greet you in our com- 
mon tongue, and so I must go back to my Gaelic ancestors and 
borrow one, "Caed millia faillthe" — "An hundred thousand wel- 
comes." 




45 



TO THE SOLDIERS WHO HAD SERVED IN THE 

PHILIPPINES. 

June 12, 1901. 

It is indeed a matter of regret that the mayor of the City of 
Utica is unable to be present upon this occasion to welcome you 
on behalf of the city, but the little document enclosed with his 
letter is ample testimony as to the location of his heart, with 
reference to this enterprise. Utica needs no word from me or 
anyone else to tell you of the feelings entertained for her gallant 
soldier lads, for Utica has spoken tonight in thunder tones which 
shall echo for generations. Patriotism is an asset that never 
reached the bankruptcy schedules, so far as Utica is concerned. 
Every body of volunteers which went forth from this vicinity to 
follow the flag has been handsomely treated upon its return, 
whether or not they were permitted to face an enemy in open 
battle. But this demonstration was several degrees wilder and 
more enthusiastic, because we know that you have listened to the 
ping of the deadly Mauser ; that you have faced unseen foes in 
hitherto unknown lands; that you have fought in the open and 
in the brush; that you have crossed wide oceans, forded rivers 
and surmounted supposedly impassable barriers. 

There are men here tonight who will ever bear the scars of 
Filipino bullets. One in particular whom I knew as a school boy, 
carries a lifeless arm by his side — shot while on the firing line. 
Only a few years ago ill luck found him in a box car beating his 
way and greater misfortune (or else the tale would never have 
been told,) forced "Josiah Flynt," the magazine writer, known 
to the police of New York, Chicago and other places as 'Cigar- 
ettes," a degenerate, upon him as a companion. And to read 
Flynt's stories one would think that every poor fellow compelled 
to "hit the road" was a confirmed criminal. I have been out a 
little in the highways and byways of life myself, have met and 
traveled with some of the men whom Flynt would hold up to 
scorn as tramps, and many of them were Nature's noblemen. 

And there are other instances where heroes have been "enter- 
tained unawares." Down in the City of San Antonio, Texas, in 
the police court record of December 12, 1892, one may find the 
name of a 16-year old lad who ran away from an Iowa home, 
with a conviction for vagrancy and a ten days' sentence to Bexar 
County jail entered opposite. And his only crime was sleeping 
in the grass, in this land of the free, in the city whose greatest 
pride is the Alamo, where Bowie and Crockett fell, fighting for 
freedom. How that police justice who imposed the sentence, 

46 



provided he possessed a memory, must have hung his head on a 
spring morning of 1898, when the world was electrified with the 
story of the sinking of the Merrimac in Santiago Harbor. For 
the coxswain of the sunken boat, the man upon whom command 
of the enterprise would have devolved had Richmond Pearson 
Hobson fallen, was Osborne Deignan my room-mate — not in the 
jail, but in the soldier's bed, where we had the green grass for a 
pillow and the blue sky for a coverlet, as we happily hummed a 
paraphrase of one of Eugene Field's best, "When We Were 
Broke in Texas in December Ninety-Two." 

There are others to think of than the wounded. The silent 
toast and the sweet melody which followed touched a sympathetic 
chord in every heart. The one sad memory tonight is that there 
are mothers in Utica who cannot join in the glad refrain going 
up from so many hearts and throats. Ah! those vacant chairs! 
O ! these mothers' hearts. God pity and bless them ! You who 
have recklessly charged where bullets flew thick and fast can 
turn to the "Poet of the Sierras," and learn something of battle 
and warriors : 

"The bravest battle that ever was fought ! 
Shall I tell you where and when? 
On the maps of the world you will find it not — 
Twas fought by the mothers of men." 

"O ! spotless woman in a world of shame ; 
With splendid and silent scorn. 
Go back to God as white as you came — 
The kingliest warrier born." 

During your absence whenever we picked up a paper and read 
of "something doing" in the Philippine Islands, we knew that 
some Utican was close by, for the town was represented not only 
in the volunteer regiments, but in the regulars as well, as may be 
seen by perusing the card. The most of those present tonight 
can say Iloilo and Panay with the ease of a Tagalog, and as for 
Manila and Luzon, they have become as familiar as Dupont 
Street, Tar Flat or the Barbary Coast to a soldier stationed at 
the Presidio. (I don't suppose that any of them ever went 
"South of Market," or braved the stench of Mission Creek to 
invade the domain of King McManus in the Potrero.) In the 
pictures which the war department has given out, of the Fourth 
Cavalry fording the river at Tarlac, there are those who say that 
our Utica trooper is plainly to be seen. And so it was, as Lieut. 
Goodale's letter proudly states, at every coign of vantage, at every 
responsible post. The Utican has a habit of getting there, which 

47 



was most aptly described by a Rome orator in a Republican 
county convention a few years agone, 

"Dear Utica ! Sweet Utica ! Fairest of the fair ! 
Good Utica ! Lovely Utica ! You always get your share." 

And when I gaze upon the list of "non-coms" and notice the 
proportion to the number of privates, again I reiterate "Utica 
always gets its share." Of course there is a pleasant fiction that 
some were created corporals on the rock pile, but that sort of 
thing must be passed over as a roast from some civilian. The 
appellation of corporal is too sacred to be bandied about by any 
son of Mars. For was it not as a corporal that Napoleon first 
achieved military distinction? And was it not at the summit of 
my military glory, during those never to be forgotten nine days 
of the Buffalo strike, that a corporal's chevrons distinguished the 
speaker from the rest of the provision train raiders and almost 
secured me a place in the history published in installments by 
general court martial? Napoleon and I bore each other such a 
strong facial resemblance at one time or another that it is per- 
fectly excusable to mix up our military records. 

And now, my boys, a personal word, and a serious one, with 
you. Do not feel offended at these words of advice. I have taken 
fully as much interest in you collectively, and in the gallant regu- 
lars still across the sea, as any person in this vicinity. I have felt 
justly proud of the good records you have made. Keep it up. 
Glory is a transitory thing. Fame is a bubble. There were many 
who cheered and hurrahed for you as you walked up Genesee 
Street to-night who would not be apt to stand a strike for a dime 
to-morrow. If there are any little mistakes in the past which 
worry a single one of you, forget them. The score is washed 
clean. I can tell you that good, kind, old generous Utica is one 
of the most forgiving of mothers, if her sons only show them- 
selves half way deserving. Get out and go to work. Do the 
best you can. Of course, there are some knockers in the com- 
munity who make a great deal of noise; but the silent boosters 
outnumber them ten to one. And when you have done the best 
environment and circumstances will permit, the general public 
will give you the same salutation with which the ex-keeper of the 
military jail at Iloilo met a former mayor of Burnet Street at 
Barotoc Nuevo — "The top of the morning to you." 

And now, my valiant soldier boys, in closing permit me to say 
that I trust I shall meet each and every one of you many times 
in happy converse, but never in an official capacity. 

Good-night ! And may God bless and prosper you all. 

48 



MEMORIAL ADDRESS UPON THE LATE GREAT 
INCOHONEE, THOMAS H. WATTS. 

Delivered in the Hall of Representatives, State House, 

Nashville, Tennessee, September 14, 1905, at a 

Memorial Session of the Great Council of the 

United States, Improved Order of 

Red Men. 

Tomb, pillar, column, mausoleum, sarcophagus, are but tem- 
porary at best. Granite, marble, iron, bronze — each succumbs to 
Time's ravages and merges into dust. Individuals spend their 
short allotted time upon this sphere, and in the general belief are 
then transplanted to other shores. Language alone of all things 
earthly seems to have a chance in the immortal class. Its forms 
may change, new words be brought into vogue, diverse meanings 
introduced, entirely new varieties created with the passing and 
coming of nations, but yet the carved, written and printed records 
of past ages are readily deciphered by the scholars and transla- 
tions placed within easy reach of all. 

In what better method, then, can we express our feeling for 
the departed than by truthful encomiums in simplest words? 
The flowers placed beside the open coffin or above the closed 
grave wither almost with the day's fading sunset. The fragrant 
perfumes exhaling from the flowers of the English language, 
culled by the talented speakers to whom we have already been 
privileged to listen, shall be wafted down the aisles of time so 
long as our great fraternity continues to exist. These flowers 
shall bloom perennially in our records, and when not one of those 
present to-day shall possess an earthly existence they will be 
moistened and freshened into new fragrance by teardrops from 
the eyelids of those yet unborn. 

Death is never a pleasing subject to handle, especially for one 
whose thoughts turn continually to lighter vein. And when the 
departed is one near and dear, a friend of many years' standing, 
one between whom and yourself, by continuous contact and long 
association, there had grown an unseverable bond of mutual 
esteem, the task becomes indeed a difficult one. To say that I 
sincerely admired and deeply loved our late Great Incohonee, 
Thomas H. Watts, would be stating facts mildly — to make a 
frank confession, it was nearer a case of hero-worship. Enter- 
ing the Great Council of the United States at about the same 
time, engaged in the practice of the same profession, drawn 
together by many similarities in thought and taste, the greatest 
pleasure of attending these annual sessions lay in the thought 

49 



of the warm welcome and the pleasant greetings daily to be ex- 
changed with Brother Watts. Meeting him each great sun was 

"As prized as is the blessing from an aged father's lip, 
As welcome as the haven to the tempest-driven ship, 
As sweet as smile of lover to gentle maid." 

Alas, a pleasure never again to be experienced! 

• To exchange thoughts and confidences with him — by conversa- 
tion's aid to discern the broad grasp of affairs earthly which he 
possessed — to see the ease with which he could dispose of knotty 
problems, was not granted to all of his friends in this Great 
Council ; but those who have shared such delights carry grateful 
remembrances, lasting unto death. 

Big, broad, brainy — men made in his mold are rarely met. 
Nature stamped him for a leader of men; Destiny cut short a 
career which might have proven remarkable. Gifted with talents 
which with scarcely an effort placed him in the fore-rank of 
legislation's battle-field, worthy to take issue with and cope 
successfully against the many giants delegated by the Great 
Councils in the various commonwealths throughout this great 
land of ours, with an insight into human nature and ability to 
read men possessed by few, his intimates never wondered that 
he climbed to the top of the ladder in our beloved fraternity. 
Indeed, failure to do so would rather have been cause for won- 
derment. 

And then, in the pride and flush of his manhood, at the zenith 
of fame known to the Improved Order of Red Men, enjoying 
the esteem, the love, the confidence, the respect of all, with barely 
a moment's warning, comes the end — the fate which each must 
some day share. The cold earth closed over him, the green grass 
fought its way upward to the sunlight and waved above the 
resting place of his earthly remains. 

The form of Brother Watts has passed to the silent tomb, but 
pleasing memories of his life and career in pur midst, his genial 
companionship, the work done by him for fraternity, his gener- 
ous, kindly heart, his pleasing, eloquent voice, and the grand 
soul which beamed from out his beautiful eyes, these — ^these 
memories shall endure with us to the end of time. 




50 



FOURTH OF JULY ADDRESS, 1904. 

Corn Hill Celebration, Utica. 

Those of you who have never gone through the motions of 
delivering a Fourth of July address, while the small boy set off 
his cannon crackers and fired his toy pistol, while the lusty- 
lunged infant squalled above his mother's cooing, while lovers 
spooned and neighbors gossiped, can hardly appreciate the un- 
alloyed pleasure which now and again falls to the lot of the 
man to whom Providence has allotted "the gift of gab." The 
only other man who enjoys similar treatment is the piano-player 
at a "recital." His soul, however, is wrapped up or rhapsodied 
in his own melody — a condition almost impossible for the aver- 
age speaker to create. And yet, in order to fill out our pro- 
grammes, the "orator" is as essential as the small boy — and does 
less damage. 

Some years ago I heard the story of a joyful (and we do not 
often see a sorrowful) Irishman, who was celebrating the alleged 
natal day of his patron saint by enthusiastically shouting "Hurrah 
for Ireland !" A woozy, or oozy, or boozy individual, whose 
lop-sided straggle along the sidewalk was apparently disturbed 
by the loudness of this "harp's" tune, braced himself long enough 
to butt in with "Hurrah for Hell !" Quick as an emerald flash 
came back the Gael retort, "That's right, you divil ! Every man 
hurrah for his own country !" And that gun was spiked. 

The son of Erin was right. The man who has not a country 
to laud is poor indeed. And the man who does not think enough 
of his country, state, county, city, town or village to whoop it 
up for her on all occasions deserves the poet's condign punish- 
ment — "unwept, unhonored and unsung." We in this great cos- 
mopolitan nation — the most of us but one, two or three genera- 
tions removed from the "Old World" — feel a genuine thrill of 
pleasure as our Italian friend grinds from his organ some 
patriotic tune, laudatory of Garibaldi or other local patriot. Those 
who are able, join with our Teuton friends in the singing of "Die 
Wacht am Rhein." Many thrill with joy at the sound of the 
"Marseillaise." All improvise a brogue and sail into the chorus 
of "The Wearing of the Green." But when the band strikes up 
our newest national anthem hats go high in air, arms are waved, 
hoarse male shouts mingle with shrill feminine shrieks, but 
above the din of the frantic multitude can still be discerned the 
tune we all know and love — "There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old 
Town To-night." 

This country of ours is the grandest on the globe. It would 

51 



take all the spare moments of the average life to view its beauties 
and grandeurs. And yet hov\^ few see them or can converse in- 
telligently thereon. There are some who have not begun to see 
America, and yet, upon obtaining the price, can only be satisfied 
with an European tour. And other jealous fools envy them! 
Why, up here at Trenton Falls, eighteen miles to the north, is 
one of the most beautiful and picturesque spots known, and 
scarce five hours away is that wonder of the world, Niagara 
Falls. And yet people who have never seen either, and scarcely 
know in what direction lie the Adirondacks, are scheming and 
planning and pondering every day and some nights how to make 
an European trip. My friends, see America first, if you have 
to "tramp it." 

While the number not posted geographically or topographically 
upon our country is indeed great, how much greater is the his- 
torical ignorance. Turn to your neighbors right now where you 
stand and see how many of them ever heard of Thomas Paine, 
the real father of American independence. And the greatest 
American of all, Thomas Jefferson, above the fact that he was 
once President — how many can give any further information? 
Who was Ethan Allen? What did Mad Anthony Wayne do? 
Whom did Williams, Paulding and Van Wirt capture ? What of 
Nathan Hale? What was the name of Paul Revere's companion, 
who hung "the lantern aloft in the belfry of the old North 
Church"? How many of you really know that Oriskany was 
the actual turning point of the Revolution, and the tall shaft 
there standing marks the fall of heroes who in truth saved this 
nation? What was the date of that battle? And who were the 
leaders on each side ? How many men engaged ? Oh ! men and 
women of Utica, you think you are proud of your country, but 
go home and take unto yourself a civil service examination in 
United States history and geography and you will be ashamed 
of yourselves for the little knowledge you possess. But then you 
will average up with the rest of the country. 

Yes, we are all patriots after a fashion, but how many men 
to-day lifted their hats when Old Glory passed in the procession ? 
Teach that to your boy. Make him patriotic. Instill in his heart 
to love and honor the flag, and to learn the story of his country. 
And don't neglect your girl, either. And while we are on the 
subject of pride, don't forget your city. There never was a man 
born in Utica who sought a living elsewhere but kept the old 
burg in mind. I have met them in California, in Idaho, in the 
Dakotas, in Illinois, in the Virginias, in Georgia, in Missouri, 
almost everywhere in the United States, and each was proud of 

52 



the city of his nativity and ready to whoop and fight in her behalf 
if necessary. Why, then, should not the present inhabitants share 
that feeling? If your pulses don't throb that way now, put on 
a little pressure. If there is not a tingle in your veins, get the 
virus somewhere and inoculate yourselves. 

Where is there a city more beautiful? Where is property 
safer? Where less crime? Where are better pavements laid? 
Where are the streets kept cleaner? Look around you. If you 
see any defects, bring them to public notice in the proper way, 
so that they may be remedied. Do your best to secure greater 
improvements. If you have any knocking to do, knock at the 
right time and place, and right here at home. If a stranger is 
about or you are in some other place, remember that boosting 
for home and nativity is the order of the day. There are two 
statements which I have used on other occasions and which are 
always in order, so I may be excused for again repeating them: 
"The handsomest women in the world are to be found in 
Utica," and "The grass grows the greenest between Oneida and 
Schenectady." 

Amid the scenes of joy and festivity a sudden shadow crosses. 
Pardon me for giving way to a single thought of sadness. But 
among the many friends possessed on Corn Hill and in Frog Hol- 
low, as we from downtown spoke of this locality in days of old, 
there is one to-day missing, who, if alive, would be in the front rank 
of the promoters of this celebration. You who lived near George 
W. Jones knew him and loved him, many times testifying your 
appreciation of his worth as a man, a citizen and an official. 
But, my friends, you can hardly appreciate and mourn him as 
does one who passed through the ordeals of a couple of campaigns 
with him and by his side, and who for nearly five years has been 
in daily contact. It seems as though a brother had been lost. 
And there are many other hearts whose grief at his demise will 
not be assuaged for a long time to come. 

The lawless acts of two contending elements in Colorado 
lately, and the revolutionary usurpations of power by a hot- 
headed Governor and a strenuous-life militia commander, merely 
serve to prove to us that a well-known citizen was right when 
he testified at a recent inquiry that every person was more or less 
outside the pale of safety and sanity at times. We can give 
thanks that such conditions do not exist in our midst, and yet 
there are some who apparently would be glad to have them 
prevail. If you doubt me, read some resolutions published in 
the papers the other day, alleged to have been passed by an organ- 
ization of recent creation whose officers prefer to remain un- 

53 



named. When one side oversteps the bounds of law, some people 
insist upon the enforcement of that section of the Penal Code 
known as the "Conspiracy Act," never dreaming that the very- 
same statute covers some of their own actions and that the 
punishment sought to be meted out to others can be dealt to 
them. One of the wisest minds of the day. Bishop Potter of New 
York, said only yesterday, "The trade union has come to stay, 
and it is a tremendous force, which must be reckoned with in a 
sane, careful and respectful way." The cause for much of the 
disturbance of this kind lies with those who should be the first 
to act understandingly and should be able to provide a remedy 
before the first outbreak. It is only a few years since a man in a 
certain locality was very busy organizing an association of his 
fellow-workers in a certain trade. Soon he managed to set up 
for himself, and finally came to control pretty nearly all of that 
business in his neighborhood and employ the greater number of 
those employed therein. With the rise to power and wealth his 
ideas and sentiments changed. Tfiat association which he had 
built, and fought for was crushed by its creator. 

Not long since there was a meeting between representatives of 
both sides in a trade dispute. All of the employing committee 
save one, I am told, were of the kind spoken of as "gentlemen 
by birth and breeding," let that mean what it may. And this is 
the way one of the bright young fellows from the under side 
characterized the man who, having been once a workingman, was 
deemed to be the best friend of labor in the group, but who proved 
to be its most strenuous opponent: "The first thing announced 
was that he was born in a shanty, and he then immediately pro- 
ceeded to prove to everybody that, despite luck and wealth, he 
had never risen above primary conditions." 

Alas! Of how many of us could the very same thing be said 
with truth ! We cannot rise above self. Our viewpoints change 
with condition and environment, but the range of vision rarely 
gets beyond our personal individuality. The strongest railer 
against the injustice of monetary conditions to-day is the fellow 
born to luxury, but now compelled to earn a living, while many 
times it will be found that the poor have their worst enemy in the 
beggar . who has risen to horseback. Shakespeare once more 
exemplified that knowledge of human nature pre-eminent with 
him when speaking of the successfully ambitious man, who "looks 
into the clouds, scorning the base degrees by which he did 
ascend." We all mean to be free from and untrammeled by 
corporate influence, and yet few of us refuse a railroad pass. 
Our newspapers will attack unlawful privileges granted, and 

54 



then be quieted by a four-inch advertisement. Most of us are 
like the editors, we cannot keep the cash-box in the business office 
out of our thoughts. We are for free trade, except in the par- 
ticular article in whose manufacture we may be interested. We 
clamor for peace, and then jump headlong into a war, and while 
proclaiming opposition to the "man on horseback," we wind up 
by creating heroes if none have been evolved by the strife. We 
believe in municipal ownership of every franchise, excepting 
those in which we may have capital invested or by which we may 
be employed. We whisper under our breaths about the*injustice 
or intolerance displayed by this one or that one, and yet when 
a man dares to stand up openly and deliver knock-out blows in 
behalf of human rights we roast him right and left. Down deep 
in our hearts the great majority mean to be honest, and our in- 
most thoughts are tinged with socialism, yet when the chance 
comes to uplift the downtrodden and succor the distressed we too 
often "let selfish motives restrain the generous impulse of a 
noble deed." All this does not prove that we are not good Ameri- 
cans, only that we are fickle specimens of humanity, the same as 
grown the world over. 

For the next four months this country will sway forward and 
backward in one of the most prodigious political battles we have 
ever known. Men on both sides, for no apparent reason, will 
desert former affiliations, to be hailed with great acclaim by 
former traducers and derided and abused by those who were 
wont to acclaim. Before long reason will desert two-thirds of 
the men, and they will scowl and frown on relatives and life- 
long friends who refuse to accept the same political doctrine. 
Angry words will sever friendships. Hoarse mobs will franti- 
cally cheer fantas'tically uniformed enthusiasts, drinking in gulps 
of red fire with each shout. The small boy will be in his glory. 
But it will be a great thing for us. The surplus enthusiasm and 
insanity will be worked off, and the fall of snow will find us all 
in a "safe and sane" condition once more. 

And each time we go through this performance we come out 
a little safer and a little saner, which goes to prove that despite 
its faults this is a pretty good old world after all, and we know 
that the best portion of it is in the Western Hemisphere, situated 
mostly between Canada and Mexico. And no matter who may prove 
the victor in the impending struggle, or who shall distribute the 
loaves and fishes, the mail and the packages of seeds, let us 
hope that each of us shall have the knowledge in his brain and 
the courage in his heart to repeat that famous aphorism, breath- 
ing true Americanism in its every letter, uttered by the lamented 

55 



Garfield in quelling a war-time riot in New York City, "God 
reigns and the Government at Washington still lives," and when 
another year rolls around the survivors — and may the percent- 
age be the highest possible — shall meet once more to whoop it 
up for the grandest country under the sun and the proudest flag 
known to nations. 




56 



LEST WE FORGET. 

Toast Delivered at the Wexford '98 Club Banquet, Utica, 
N. Y., May 18, 1905. 

"Back through the vast of the clamoring years" come voices 
of untold millions of victims crying out to heaven for the pun- 
ishment of the most cruel, brutal and tyrannical crimes ever per- 
petrated in the name of governmental policy. After more than 
seven centuries of unparalleled persecutions and punishments by 
Britain, with every effort made to brutalize, degrade and destroy 
a people, still lives the Irish race, with its numerous sub-divisions 
and additions, the most virile, vigorous and versatile family in- 
habiting this orb. Uncontrolled, unconquered and unconquerable, * 
fighting ever against superhuman odds, at times struggling against 
extirpation, surrendering never, Ireland's battle has been the 
marvel of the centuries. Her hillsides and her vales have ever 
known the watchlights of freedom's struggle, despite the many at- 
tempts to destroy and stamp out the fire. 

We who have gathered here to-night are Americans, true and 
loyal. We have no quarrel with any other American citizen. Some 
of the best people we know, sortie of the best friends we have and 
hope to hold, are of English birth or descent, and their forebears 
came here as did our own and many of ourselves — to better ex- 
isting conditions. It is not with them we quarrel, but with the 
accursed policy of an accursed government, the protection of 
which they were glad to forsake. Every one has the undeniable 
right to cherish home and fatherland, but he should bear no re- 
sentment for the utterance of truths which he cannot gainsay. 

It is our first duty as American citizens to know American his- 
tory thoroughly, and yet, alas ! how few perform that duty. Then 
we should learn and know the his'tory of the country whence our 
people emigrated — and fewer yet respond. Some of the things I 
learned at mother's knee were tales of Ireland's wrongs and Eng- 
land's cruelties, which made deep and lasting impressions. And 
I believe it to be the duty of every one of the blood to hand 
down to succeeding generations a truthful recital of these un- 
avenged atrocities, until some day the chiefest malefactor shall 
be arraigned at the bar of nations and receive a long-delayed but 
well-deserved punishment. Lest they forget, I pledge you that 
my offspring shall learn that story over and over again, even as 
it was told unto me in boyhood, and that the scope of their read- 
ing, shall be broad enough to completely impress the story of the 
land of their forefathers as well as of the land of their birth. 

The worst offenders against Ireland and Irish folk have rightly 

57 



been said to have been Cromwell and Elizabeth. Sometime after 
the former's death some Englishmen digged up his remains and 
hanged them at Tyburn. It yet remains for others to chisel the 
scarlet letter across the face of the Elizabethan tomb in order to 
complete history. 

Consider for a moment a few of the enactm.ents of those times : 

No scholar of the Irish nation was permitted to teach. 

To send one's children beyond the seas for education meant 
confiscation of property. 

No child of Irish parentage could be apprenticed in trade or 
mercantile pursuit. * 

At fourteen, all Irish youths must enlist in the army or marine 
service. 

No Irishmen could hold ofhce. 

Women and children were sold into slavery. 

Harboring one who adhered to the Papacy was high treason. 

Irish farmers must sell their produce to government stores at 
lowest prices. 

A holding of ten acres meant that one should be sowed with 
hemp or flax for the fleet. 

In case of the murder of an Englishman and the non-capture 
of the criminal, all Irishmen in the district were held responsible 
as accessories. 

The right to worship God according to conscience was denied, 
and the same price was paid for the head of an Irish priest as 
for the head of a wolf. 

The oldest son of every family could be taken by the govern- 
ment as a ward and educated in England, often returning to fight 
against his own kinsmen. 

These and a thousand other statutes equally odious may be 
found by anyone desirous of perusing the enactments of British 
parliaments of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In spite 
of all, the race struggled, lived on and prospered. Each immi- 
grant to Ireland's shores needed but to stay a short while, and 
then, in the language of a great historian, "They became more 
Irish than the Irish themselves." The island became a commer- 
cial factor. Again in a new direction was the legislative aid 
invoked. 

Let me quote from a summary recently made by a leading 
American newspaper : 

58 



"Live cattle from several counties were exported to England 
and undersold the English farmers. Then by the law Irish cattle 
were declared *a nuisance.' Therein forbidden to bring them into 
England, next the Irish killed their beasts at home and began to 
export cured meats. Promptly, at the request of the English 
merchants, parliament put prohibitory duties on these salted 
meats. 

"Later parliament forbade the importation of Irish leather- 
so that the Irish farmer could not sell his cows, alive or dead, or 
even the hides. 

"The Irish tried sheep farming. At the request of English 
sheep breeders, Irish wool was declared contraband by a parlia- 
ment of Charles II. 

"The Irish began to manufacture their wool into cloth, making 
fustian flannel and broadcloth so successfully that, at the request 
of the English merchants and by an act of William III, the 
woolen industry of Ireland was destroyed and 20,000 manu- 
facturers left the island. 

"In their turn, cotton manufacturers, sugar refiners, soap mak- 
ers and candle makers, at the request of the English competitors, 
were forbidden by parliament to carry on their work. 

"The Irish, in despair yet struggling on, built ships — and in all 
save a few ports the Irish flag was forbidden. 

§ "The Irishman could not even import into Ireland sugar, cot- 
ton or tobacco. They must go first to England and pay an English 
profit before the Irish could get them." 

Great God, it seems as though it were almost a crime for an 
Irishmen to breathe ! And though some people to-day through 
•whose veins flows the blood of the Gael are pleased to be classed 
as Anglo-Saxons and speak with praise of the "mother country," 
whenever I hear the term Anglo-Saxon the Norman-Celt rises 
within me and asks leave to kick the speaker. An alliance with 
England ? God forbid that America should stoop so low ! 

It was not an Irishman, nor an Anglophobe of any description, 
but one of the most talented and vigorous representatives of an 
English constituency in parliament who penned these lines 
descriptive of the English flag: 

"It has floated o'er scenes of pillage. ' 
It has flaunted o'er deeds of shame. 
It has waved o'er the vile marauder 
As he ravished with sword and flame. 
59 



It has looked upon ruthless slaughter, 

And massacre dire and grim; 
It has heard the shrieks of the victims 

Drown even the Jingo hymn." 

When all Ireland shall have settled its score with England, the 
County Wexford will still have a few debts to pay. To-night we 
celebrate the anniversary of the battle of Vinegar Hill, where a 
handful of Irishmen, with pikes and clubbed guns, but no ammu- 
nition, compelled an overwhelming British force to open ranks 
and let them march through. In the fighting for a couple of days 
previous they had driven a wholesome fear into British hearts. 
Tell that story to your children. Ballyellis Wall, too, must not be 
forgotten. The British are without any very authentic report 
from that conflict, for not a man wearing the uniform of the 
regiment engaged lived to tell the tale. And the burning of 
Hackettstown barracks made rare sport for our "rebel" ancestry, 
when they evened up a few of the many wrongs done them. 

But an hundred such reprisals cannot wipe out the murder by 
Cromwell of the 300 women and children at the foot of the 
cross. A thousand of them cannot wipe out the crimes per- 
petrated to incite the uprising of '98. It makes one shudder to 
think of or repeat them. Homes destroyed, defenseless men shot 
down in the streets and roads, women hanged and flogged, girls 
outraged in broad daylight, babes ruthlessly battered head first 
against the walls in the very sight of their mothers, protestir^ 
husbands and fathers shaved and crowned with caps of pitch, 
driving them insane — these are but a small part of the crimes 
of those in power. Is it any wonder that the Franco-Russian his- 
torian. Valerian GribayedofI, three-quarters of a century later, 
after an impartial examination of facts and records, should say^ 
that no people were ever subjected to such persecutions and in- 
dignities as were the Wexford people, and that their every act 
of rebellion was justified many times over? 

When we meet or think or talk of Wexford these memories 
come surging through the brain, making the blood boil, gaining 
renewed strength and intensity as they sweep across the famine 
graves of '47 and '48, and lead us to uplift our hands to Holy 
Heaven and repeat with all the fervor of our hearts this sup- 
plication and avowal : 

Lord God of Hosts, bear with us yet ! 

We have not forgotten ! We shall never forget ! 



60 



ELKS' MEMORIAL ADDRESS. 

Rutland, Vt., December 5, 1909. 

Since first mankind began to reason, Death and its cause and 
effect have received attention in thought and written and spoken 
language in almost every known dialect. No matter what one 
might say upon the subject or how original his ideas might ap- 
pear, yet when each sentence and sentiment was traced down it 
would be seen that it was only a new form of expression for 
some idea that had received thought and treatment at the hands 
of poets and philosophers of bygone days. Bear with me then if 
I quote the originals and do not mar them by an attempt at 
revamping. 

Fitz-Greene Halleck, in his beautiful tribute to Bozzaris, the 
Grecian hero, epitomized the old conception of man's fearsome 
Destroying Angel in these words: 

"And thou art terrible! the tear. 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier; 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony are thine." 

But the new thought, the new idea, which has steadily reached 
into the hearts of intelligent men and women of the present gen- 
eration, and indeed one or two of its immediate predecessors, 
finds greater solace in those beautiful words of Tennyson, which 
have been sung in almost an htmdred tongues and bid fair to 
become immortal : 

"Twilight and evening bell, 
And after that the dark ! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell 
When I embark." 

On this first Sunday in December, in every' city or town of 
more than five thousand inhabitants which floats to the breeze 
the American flag, with hushed voices and softened tread and 
to. the sound of slow and sadly sweet — yet sweetly sad — music, 
the living members of the Benevolent and Protective Order of 
Elks are gathering to pay their tribute of loyalty and affection 
to "The Absent Brothers" whose names have been inscribed upon 
the "mystic roll-call of those who shall come no more." That 
we should devote one day in the year to thoughts of our de- 
parted friends seems a beautiful idea to those who never have 
crossed the portals of Elkdom. Since first the Grand Army of 

61 



the Republic, under the guidance of General John A. Logan, 
secured the observance of a memorial day for the soldiers over 
whom taps had sounded for the last time, many of the fraternities 
have wheeled into line and now make fitting observance of some 
one day in the year when tributes of love and affection are 
heaped upon the memories of those who never again shall re- 
spond to an earthly roll-call. 

But Elkdom does not confine its affection for the dead to a 
single day in each recurring year. Twice in every diurnal period 
— that is, with every round of the clock — the true and loyal Elk, 
if only for a single minute, lays aside all thought of pending 
business, pleasure or pain, and upon the altar of devotion pours 
a spoonful of incense to the memory of those we have loved 
and lost. To me, the most touching, beautiful sentiment (in an 
experience varied almost as any to be found in the realms of 
popular fiction) is contained in these words of tender significance, 
so often uttered, so little understood — "To Our Absent Brothers." 

In that great rambling masterpiece which has been translated 
numberless times and in numberless ways, and which has brought 
solace to millions of wounded hearts — "Les Miserables" — Victor 
Hugo gives vent to this thought, describing the tolling of a bell 
to mark the hour — "the tocsin is man, the hour is God!" 

Oh ! wh^t a world of truth in that simple sentence ! It has 
struck me forcibly more than once that while perusing that por- 
tion of the story of Jean Valj can's tribulations, within some 
tender, generous breast was born the inspiration which twice 
daily finds responsive echo in the hearts of our surviving breth- 
ren. The tolling of the bell is but man's reminder that the mo- 
ment has arrived when a master thought, born of and inspired 
by Divinity itself, shall find temporary lodgment in mortal heart 
and brain, to the exclusion of every other thought and expres- 
sion. No matter how simple or of little moment the custom may 
seem to the uninitiated, to the man of brain and thought, who is 
tinctured with irnagery and conception even in the slightest de- 
gree, the great master hand of the Supreme Power shines forth 
upon the face of the dial after the echo of the last stroke of 
eleven has faded into the surrounding gloom. 

This custom, this thought, this inspiration to daily retrospect 
of our friends of the long ago who have answered the final sum- 
mons, should alone be sufficient to bring within the folds of 
our tent every good and worthy citizen who is able to stand 
the test of eligibility. 

Longfellow, in "The Beleaguered City," wrote : 

62 



"I have read in the marvelous heart of man, 
That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
Beleaguered the human soul." 

And at the close of that poem, 

"And when the solemn and deep church bell 
Entreats the soul to pray. 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 
The shadows sweep away. 

"Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 
The spectral camp is fled; 
Faith shineth as a morning star — 
Our ghostly fears are dead." 

What the poet penned, at its first publication, found few re- 
sponsive chords among human hearts, but to-day the same gospel 
is being preached by every progressive fraternity, and nowhere 
with such force and effect as within the ranks of Elkdom. 

Those of us who in our boyhood dared to steal a peep beneath 
the covers of Thomas Paine's "Age of Reason" — ^who in our 
hours of youth were almost ostracized because we scraped and 
saved to muster the price which would permit us to get within 
the sound of the voice of the brilliant Ingersoll and listen to his 
wonderful prose-poems, depicting on every hand love and light, 
life and sunshine — who dared to come to the support of the 
talented Beecher, when the prudes and Pharisees of his day and 
age tried to cast down and destroy him, daily express vain wishes 
that these giants of the past might only be given to us again, 
now that the world has begun to appreciate them and their un- 
selfish devotion to the cause of uplifting downtrodden humanity, 
and driving fears and terrors forth from lodgment within human 
breasts. 

Death is no longer a terror — only to the ignorant. The point 
of his shaft has been softened, the specter no longer appears 
grim and gruesome. The majority of men and women look 
complacently on their approaching end, and even welcome it with- 
out a tremor. 

A native of my home city, lying upon a bed of pain from which 
he never again was to arise, dictated to his loving helpmeet, sta- 
tioned there at the bedside, these words : 

63 



"Never again to know 
Health's radiant, warming glow; 
Never again to feel 
The sinews .pliant as steel 
Tempered in action's heat, 
The sweat of honest toil. 
Earning its respite sweet; 
But day and night, night and day, 
To watch the body's slow decay. 
And know that Death scores one in the game. 
In sunshine and shadow, just the same — 
Every day, every day." 

Just a faint tone of regret at the coming parting shines through, 
but it is far overbalanced by that bravery which permitted the 
dying man to speak of life as a game and of the scores that were 
being tallied by his opponent in the closing scenes of that grim 
struggle. The world clings with loving memory to those who 
meet Death with a smile, as this man did, and yet in another 
poem, often quoted, penned in earlier years, he had written: 

"Theirs the agony, bitter and brief, 
Ours the heartache and lingering grief." 

Memorial days are not designed to resurrect heartaches and 
buried griefs. Rather is the thought one "to make the whole 
world kin," to bring together all humanity in "The Great Brother- 
hood of Man and the Fatherhood of God," so that each may help 
to bear and lessen the burdens of his neighbors. We know that 
monuments of natural stone or iron, or prepared substitutes, 
cannot last forever. Daily they are vanishing on every side. 
We wish to express an appreciation of our friends who have 
lately fallen in life's battle. Long ago someone said, "Kind words 
can never die," and recognizing the wonderful truth contained 
in that aphorism, the members of the great Elks' fraternity this 
day cluster together about a catafalque which represents the 
newly made graves of the passing year and say our kindest words 
of the brethren with whom we have met for the last time, hoping 
to bring to the loving and sundered hearts still grieving a sooth- 
ing balm which shall in time heal their wounds and assuage their 
grief. 

We know that however fearless or brave we may be upon this 
topic when discussed from a generic standpoint, yet when the 
loss sustained has been our own, when the fallen brother has been 
bound to us by ties of kindred or by the close association of years, 

64 



our feelings are wrought upon and overcome, with very little 
more resistance than the feelings of those whom we look upon 
as weaklings. That great woman who has looked into so many 
hearts and written, never indited more truthful lines than in one 
of her early efforts : 

"There is room in the halls of pleasure 
For a long and a lordly train. 
But one by one we must all 

File down the narrow aisles of pain." 

The bell has tolled for each of the brothers of the lodge who 
has passed away during the year. Each lighted candle has been 
extinguished as the departed brother's name failed of response 
when called by the Secretary. This brief ceremony has done 
much toward convincing the outer world that all of Elkdom is 
not just "good fellowship." It is true that there are many good 
fellows within the ranks, and we do not want any bad fellows, 
but the day when being a good fellow was the only passport neces- 
sary to Elkdom disappeared with the infancy of the order. To- 
day Brotherly Love is its chiefest asset and its best known char- 
acteristic, for it is being practiced on every hand daily by the 
vast majority of its members. The proudest boast we have is 
that "there are no Elks in county shrouds or filling paupers' 
graves." The open heart, the open hand, the closed eye and the 
sealed lips are our symbols, but from them the world at large 
obtains no sign. The Charity we profess and bestow is known 
only within our own portals. We plead for Justice to all man- 
kind, and strive to impress upon all who approach our altar 
that it is their bounden duty 

"To aid the cause that lacks assistance. 
To fight the wrongs that need resistance." 

And last, but not least of all, we seek to inculcate thoughts 
of Fidelity — that Fidelity which means Loyalty to America and 
American institutions. Beneath the starry flag only can our 
Order or its branches find lodgment, and no lodge is opened or 
closed without the display of that beautiful emblem. Each 
neophyte is told its story in sublimest language. And with us 
Fidelity means much more. It means respect for and obedience 
to the laws of our land, respect for and obedience to the laws and 
officers of our lodges and Grand Lodge, and away and beyond 
all that our members are following the injunction of that gifted 
genius. Colonel Ingersoll, and "holding high above all other 

65 



things — high as Hope's great throbbing star above the darkness 
of the dead — the love of home, and wife, and child, and friend." 

Following out the behest of those four great basic principles, 
Brotherly Love, Charity, Justice and Fidelity, we are each striv- 
ing to make this world better that we have lived in it. If all 
mankind were to-morrow to adopt our platform of principles 
and hereafter be governed thereby, "The Golden Rule" would 
have full sway, and with the abolition of misery, poverty and 
degradation, the approach of the millenium would indeed be 
rapid. 

To our brothers who have gone we say, "Hail, and farewell, 
we hope to meet again." The sorrowing kindred and friends 
they have left behind we bid "Be of good cheer, for the morning 
cometh." This life is but a span, and more often too short than 
too long. Let us hope that when that span of life terminates 
for each of us to-day present, kind hearts and willing hands will 
be ready to "write our faults upon the sands, our virtues upon 
the tablets of Love and Memory." 




66 



MEMORIAL DAY, 1906. 

Oriskany Falls. 
For a few brief hours a portion of the American public stops 
in its mad rush after the Almighty Dollar to pay a tribute to the 
fallen and departed heroes of another generation. The thought 
of Memorial Day is a sweet one, upspringing from a holy in- 
spiration. The fact that it has spread over the entire continent 
shows that, despite exposures of undreamed and unknown muck, 
much remains that is still good and pure and true. The Grand 
Army of the Republic, which strove for, upbuilded and main- 
tained the observance of this day, has by so doing erected to 
itself and its members a monument which shall outlast Time's 
ravages. 

Memory .flashes in retrospect the parades of the early '70's, 
when the line was long and the springy step of the trained veteran 
gladdened the heart of the onlooker as the column strode by in 
stately tread. We had not then begun to realize what this day 
meant. Grief was freshened in the hearts of those whose kin or 
comrades had fallen in the trenches or succumbed to the horrors 
of the prison pens; but to many of the survivors the occasion 
seemed more of a reunion than anything else. 

Each succeeding year brings home more and more the truths 
and happenings of that terrible conflict of the '60's. To-day the 
survivors form a thin and scraggly rank. White their hair, bent 
their forms, slow their step. Praise and cheer them if you will, 
but do not stoop to pity, for they are soldiers yet, and in a 
soldier's life pity has never found place. They are still fighting 
battles in the grim struggle of life. They are still marching — 
marching slowly to the grave. Soon other hands must take up 
this work which they have so proudly performed for nearly 
forty years. May it be fulfilled with the same devotion which 
has characterized the work of the Grand Army and allied 
organizations. 

The country has long been at peace, broken only by Indian out- 
breaks, local riots and the skirmish with Spain, all of which soon 
passed into history. The rising American knows little of actual 
warfare, excepting from magazine perusal, and the happenings in 
far off lands can never interest our youth with the same intensity 
as did the great battles of the Civil War. And now that the 
country has been so long reunited, that the old enmities have been 
forgotten and the old lines obliterated, the boy of today reading 
for the first time the story of that wonderful conflict feels the 
same tingle in his veins and the same thrill in his heart while 

67, 



poring over the story of the charge of Pickett's Virginians at 
Gettysburg as he experiences when absorbing the story of 
Meagher's Brigade at Marye's Heights. He fills with pride that 
each and all are his countrymen, and he knows that the vast 
majority have passed away, thus verifying the words of Judge 
Finch's beautiful poem, "The Blue and the Gray," which has 
become so familiar as to preclude the repetition of any portion. 

The story of that long struggle is more interesting than any 
novel, and time and again he turns back to read over once more 
the tales of Seven Pines, of Malvern Hill, of Antietam, jumping 
thence possibly to chapters treating of Donelson, of Shiloh and 
of Vicksburg, mayhap opening again at Fort Sumter and then- 
contrasting with the surrender of Charleston. 

O, to be a boy again for one short hour and delve back into 
history's pages, filled with a boy's enthusiasm and conjuring up 
the pictures which only a boy's mind may conjure. No matter 
how vivid the dream, the stern reality was infinitely greater. The 
histories, the panoramas, the war pictures, the scenes of the con- 
flict cannot educate us upon that point. The stranger bent upon 
a mission of peace, and knowing nothing of the cause, placed in 
view of any of the many fierce battles which raged during the 
long four years, could only have ejaculated : 

"Blood is flowing; men are dying; 
God have mercy on their souls !" 

And we who pride ourselves as being followers, in one fashion 
or another, of the Prince of Peace, dream contentedly that never 
again shall such conflict deluge our soil with its best blood. Pray 
to Heaven that dream may remain true and unchanged ! 

War is but a form of Savagery, and the eagerness with which 
we gloat over its details, the readiness with which we respond to 
calls to arms, demonstrate anew that we have only climbed a few 
degrees from man's original estate. And thus it will ever be. 
When the beat of a drum, the blare of a bugle, the boom of a 
cannon, the glint of a sword, the color of a uniform no more 
entice the youth we shall have attained a state of perfection or 
eternal lethargy. Ingersoll's description of an infant possibly 
best fits the situation : 

"Taught by want and wish and contact with the things that 
touch the dimpled flesh of babes. Lured by light and flame and 
charmed by color's wondrous robe." 

And no matter how old we grow or how the race improves,.. 

68 



traces of childhood and savagery remain, and there is not one of 
us who would willfully have such traces totally eradicated. 

We need a conflict of some kind now and then to teach patriot- 
ism. And how many there are who have steeled their hearts 
against the intrusion of that article as though it were pestilential. 
The titles "leading," "eminent" and "respectable" citizens were 
prior to the Revolutionary Days appropriated to the use of those 
whose love for Mammon and Tory affiliations compelled them to 
follow the standard of King George. If that same conflict were 
on today many of our great social and financial leaders would 
follow the suit of their prototypes of the Revolution. The acts 
of the Senators, Congressmen and Army officers who in '61 re- 
signed and went with their states could be called by no other name 
than treason, and yet the motives of many were truly of the 
highest. Today treason not only to a section but to all of the 
American people is not uncommon in high place, and resignation 
with or without treason has gone out of fashion. Now and then 
the clang of a penitentiary gate cuts short a Senatorial career, 
while Mormonism and the recognition of its higher law, with a 
morality as peculiar as the higher law of the insurance lobbyist, 
can hardly be called a bar. 

Though there be no warfare in sight, the American people are 
today in the throes of the greatest conflict they have ever known. 
The battle is not against foreign enemies but against a hydra- 
headed monster we have reared and fostered at home. Special 
privilege, graft, commercialism in politics, rebates, insurance 
frauds. Standard Oil oppression and a thousand kindred evils 
have arisen since the Civil War and seem to be fast polluting the 
stream of national health. When we look today upon the sur- 
vivors of the Rebellion a thought of thankfulness arises that em- 
balmed beef and deviled ham were unknown in their day. Bad as 
their rations may 'have been, the loss of life therefrom was com- 
paratively small when viewed in the light of the losses from that 
cause alone in Cuba and the Southern camps of '98 and '99. 

Never were a conquered race of people more thoroughly ex- 
ploited and plundered than are we today by those who have set 
themselves up as our masters without even the formality of con- 
quest. And the voices raised in protest are far too few. The 
newspaper is bought outright or cajoled by advertising contracts, 
the pulpit in too many instances accepts the gift of tainted money, 
and lauds and lends an odor of sanctity to the doings of proven 
criminals. The judicial bench, the prosecuting officer, every min- 
ion of the law almost, appears ready to prostrate himself in the 
presence of the new power which springs from money. They 

69 



know full well that power is ruthless, relentless, remorseless, and 
so craving a few short hours of peace and sunshine, they clamber 
aboard its band wagon. 

Contrast it with the period preceding the war by a score of 
years. Our own beloved Gerrit Smith was mobbed right here in 
Central New York. Wendell Phillips was jeered, derided, ostra- 
cized, Charles Sumner stricken down in the halls of Congress, 
Owen Lovejoy cruelly murdered, and every shame and obloquy 
possible cast on William Lloyd Garrison. And yet these pioneers 
in the anti-slavery fight stand out today in bold relief on history's 
page, while many who joined in vilifying them and later climbed 
aboard to become conspicuous in the work of "saving the Union," 
have dropped from sight. That has been the way with every 
great movement for betterment. It was a clamoring populace of 
nineteen centuries ago which shouted "Away with him. Crucify 
him." And Barabbas continues to be the favorite of the clamor- 
ers for statu quo, of those who fear to disturb business conditions 
by offending the mighty. The money changers are still in the 
temple, and they today as formerly most strenuously object to any 
change of base. Agitation is to them the greatest crime, although 
the history of every reform demonstrates the necessity of con- 
stant agitation. "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," con- 
tinues to be as truthful a statement as upon the day of original 
utterance. 

The post office, the first lesson in applied socialism our conti- 
nent knew, daily proves the wisdom of its inauguration and gov- 
ernmental control. The national debt, which when placed in fig- 
ures sometimes startles and appals, might easily be reduced by 
adding to the mail service a few additional features, and cutting 
away some of the innumerable grafts that have from time. to time 
been exposed. But how are you going to do it ? The "American 
House of Lords," the United States Senate stands in the way. 
Take for instance the parcels post, — ^^the introduction of such a 
form of assistance to the farmer and the common people will be 
denied so long as "Senatorial courtesy" prevails and Express 
Companies manage to retain senatorial seats. You know and can 
appreciate the benefits of rural free delivery. Now if that could 
only be extended to take in parcels of respectable size at a reason- 
able rate, how much would each one be benefited in the saving not 
only of time but money. And yet the corporate interests who 
feel that their vested rights are being disturbed say "Nay," most 
emphatically, and so long as the great State of which we some- 
times feel proud gives up half its representation to a senile dod- 
derer whose only hope is to protect those vested interests, and the 

70 



other seat, when its owner is permitted to be present by his nurses 
and attendants, is occupied by a railroad official, one of the 
formerly "eminently respectables," who is opposed to the work of 
the muck-rakers because it has exposed to public view so many 
of his own shortcomings, the people will have very little say upon 
the subject. There is an inseparable bond between railroad and 
express companies which can only he sundered by governmental 
control or ownership. 

The alliance is not all for the benefit of one side. One of the 
most notorious grafts for years has been that collected by the rail- 
roads for the transportation of mails. The government pays 
every year for rental the actual cost of each car employed, and 
then the hauling and tonnage are paid for in addition. If the 
government could only make the same terms with the railroads 
as do the express companies, the cost of transporting the mails 
would be reduced more than 75 per cent. But the railroads own 
too many Senatorial seats, and then again it is neither treason nor 
anarchy upon their part to employ a well paid lobby. However 
when the letter carrier, the post office clerk and the rural free 
delivery man organize for their own good and send a representa- 
tive to look after their interests or indeed dare to present a peti- 
tion asking for redress or improvement of their conditions, those 
too prominently identified therewith are ousted "for the good of 
the service." 

Day after day as we read of these matters, as the foul story of 
the meat trust is unfolded to us, as we learn of the crimes of 
oppression and repression in the oil trade, as the sickening tales 
of the horror of child labor are unfolded, we learn that we are 
really struggling in a fierce battle against Greed and Graft. To 
those who toil and think comes the resolve to enlist in that strug- 
gle, not for three months, but until the war is over. The ramifica- 
tions of these allied forces extend so broad and deep that they 
can only be discerned after long and patient watching. Some 
of those who decry the scandals at the National Capitol, who are 
disgusted with the unholy alliance at Albany between those who 
pretend to lead the forces of both political parties, who have even 
spoken in tones other than mild of the curious goings on in 
judicial and prosecuting circles in the City of New York anent 
the giving away of widows' and orphans' money to political shy- 
sters for the purposes of debauching the electorate, do not scruple 
to accept special privilege at home, and to denounce as anarchists 
and enemies of government those who would endeavor to curb 
their greed and rapacity. You who live among green fields and 
find a bountiful supply of water at hand can hardly realize the 

71 



extortion practiced in the name of legality by corporations which 
control the supply of that much needed article in the cities. And 
in some places the water monopolists are angels of light in com- 
parison with those who control the lighting situation. Take it, 
or leave it. Pay their price or burn rushes. 

Back in infantile days, at mother's knee, we learned to prattle 
"Give us this day our daily bread." And daily we repeated that 
for oh so long, that it has come to be little more than an idle repe- 
tition with most of us. But its literal meaning is beginning to be 
felt, for bread alone seems hard enough to get. The cake and pie 
and chicken have long been absorbed by the favored few, the 
friends of special privilege, the greedy abettors of graft and the 
grafting allies of political commercialism. And as bread was 
baked before coal was known, they are placing coal fast out of 
our reach. 

We should not await for another Lexington or another Sumter 
to arouse. Today is the hour of enlistment in the "Soldiery of 
the Common Good." As we pay tribute to the heroes who sacri- 
ficed their lives for their country in her hour of need, let us re- 
solve to do our best to down and destroy the new enemies of the 
Republic who daily encroach more and more upon our liberties. 
The contest will be a long and fierce one, because of the men 
(mostly Hessians) and supplies at the command of the allied 
forces seeking to strangle freedom of thought and speech and 
to control the vast resources of this great Continent. 

But if the Republic is to prosper and endure, the forces of evil 
must be routed, and in that struggle each must bear his part or 
be branded coward or traitor. 

"No question is ever settled, 
Until it is settled right." 

And the grave questions which have recently arisen and which 
seem almost to threaten the foundations of government can only 
be settled by a return to the standard of honesty. The forces of 
evil must be overthrown. The fallen angels who so long par- 
aded as paradoxes of safety and sanity have come to the light in 
their true Luciferian color, and the two armies which have been 
so long fighting sham battles with ammunition filched by the same 
commissary department from trust funds, from widows and or- 
phans and from every consumer of life's necessities, no longer 
receive the plaudits of the populace. 

The light of publicity which has been turned on by the muck 

72 



rakers gives promise that some day the people shall again come 
into their own, and if each of us has borne bravely and well his 
part in the contest, then the coming generations can lay their 
tributes above our graves on future Memorial Days, feeling that 
each turf shelters a hero who has fought the good fight for truth 
and right and justice in the "Army of the Common Weal." 




78 



ENTRY IN CITY COURT MINUTES. 

New Year's Day, 1910. 

Ten years have passed. And 50,000 faces in review. All 
shades, shapes., classes, ages, sizes. From youthful innocence to 
stalwart crime and hoary-headed decrepitude. Whence they came 
and whither they went, in a majority of instances, is shrouded in 
mystery. Some were repeaters. Some learned their lesson in 
one visit, and today are useful citizens and respected members of 
society. Others had been whipped in the battle of life, left at 
the post in the start, never given half a chance. The more I see 
of them, the more I learn to love the world's unfortunates. It 
does not callous one's heart to serve in such a position if one has 
a heart. The well of human sympathy never runs dry. God pity 
the living and be merciful to the dead. That not one of these 
shadows of the past shall again haunt this court room is the 
fervent New Year's wish of J. K. O'Connor, city judge of Utica. 



,74 



THE IRISH SOLDIERS IN THE CIVIL WAR. 

Delivered Before the Oneida County Veterans Association. 

June, 1903. 

I have been asked to speak upon the topic, "The Irish Soldiers 
in the Civil War." The subject is so fraught with richness that 
one hardly knows where to begin, and having commenced, it 
seems impossible to find a stopping place. This great cosmo- 
politan country of ours has received, absorbed and assimilated 
into its body politic the natives of almost every land under the 
sun. For two or three decades prior to the breaking out of the 
sectional strife in '61, the larger part of the immigration had been 
from Germany and Ireland. It was little to be wondered at then, 
that distinctively Irish and German companies, battalions, regi- 
ments and even brigades were formed almost immediately after 
the opening of hostilities. Other lands had their representatives, 
but more often as scattered individuals than as an organized body. 
There is something in the ozone we breathe which makes us all 
good Americans, no matter whence we sprung or how long or 
how short our stay in the land has been. But— to the Irish. 
Th^ir blood baptized the scene of every engagement, their bones 
bleached on every battle-field, their corpses strewed every valley 
and hillside. I am reminded of a story of two fashionable ladies 
discussing where they were to spend the summer. Several places 
were mentioned and each in turn shrugged her shoulders and 
said, "No. Too many Irish there." At last one said, "I'm not 
going to Newport this year. Too many Irish there." The other 
rejoined, "And I am not going to Narragansett, for there are too 
many Irish there." An old Irish woman sitting near who had 
overheard considerable of the conversation, then said, "Phwy 
don't yez go to hell. You'll find no Irish there." 

It was even so in war, for the Irish went everywhere, and if 
Marye's Heights wasn't hell, there is no such place. 

Of the individuals of Irish birth or extraction who attained 
great prominence upon the Union side the names which come 
most readily to mind are Sheridan, Kearney, Shields, Meade and 
Meagher. 

James Shields had won glory enough for a lifetime in the 
Mexican War, but when he once more sniffed the smoke of battle, 
insisted ijpon again taking to the saddle. And right well did he 
perform. The only times that ever the redoubtable Stonewall 
Jackson was cleanly whipped were at the hands of Shields and 
his men. But those early days of the war were the hours of in- 

■75 



trigue and ambition and many a good commander was forced 
aside to make room for a favorite. 

The name of Phil Kearney is indissolubly linked with Fair 
Oaks and Seven Pines, and his untimely death at Chantilly sent 
the heart of the nation into sorrow and mourning. 

Sheridan, the dashing cavalryman who cleaned up for the 
Army of Northern Virginia, and made of that once proud and 
almost invincible array a bunch of scattered remnants, whose 
achievements along the Potomac and in the Shenandoah Valley 
placed him at the head of cavalry leaders the world over, was a 
true type of the Irish soldier. 

When Appomattox had cast its peaceful mantle over the terri- 
ble scenes of four years back, the three great names standing 
out in bold relief were Grant, Sherman and Sheridan. The Irish 
felt interest in all three, for the last was all their own, the great 
Grant only had to feel back a couple of generations on his moth- 
er's side to find the blood of the Kelleys, and Tecumseh not hav- 
ing any Gael in his ancestry had butted in through matrimonial 
alliance. 

Possibly the most picturesque figure of all the Irish Generals 
was Thomas Francis Meagher. He had been convicted of treason 
in his native land along with John Mitchel, Smith O'Brien and 
others of the Young Ireland party in '48, for which he was sen- 
tenced to death, which sentence was afterwards commuted to 
transportation for life. He had escaped from Australia, come 
to America, practiced law, edited a newspaper, become associated 
with Colonel Michael Corcoran (after the latter's release from 
arrest and court martial for refusing to parade in honor of the 
Prince of Wales,) in the recruiting of the 69th in 1861, and went 
out with it, in command of a zouave company. Colonel Corcoran 
was captured at the first Bull Run and for 13 months lay a pris- 
oner in foul and loathsome dungeons in the South. 

When the regiment returned to New York after their three 
months enlistment had expired, an ovation awaited them, as in- 
deed it did at every place they stopped. Then was it proposed 
to return for three years as a regiment. And as most of his sen- 
ior officers had been killed, disabled or taken prisoners Meagher 
came to the front and was made Colonel. Quickly followed the 
decision to form the Irish Brigade, and with a public meeting or 
tvyo, eloquent speeches by Meagher and distinguished Irishmen of 
New York City, the 63rd and 88th New York Irish regiments 
were formed. Later came the 29th Massachusetts and the 116th 
Pennsylvania, and then the 28th Massachusetts. But the Gen- 

76 



eral's story is the story of his brigade, and time forbids any 
further sketch. 

Individual mention could not be made of all the gallajtit officers 
of Irish birth or extraction, so that but a few must suffice. Gen- 
erals Thomas Smyth of Delaware, John A. Logan, John Cochrane, 
Robert Nugent, Patrick A. Collins, Lalor, Geary, Birney, 
Doherty, Fighting Tom Sweeney, Martin T. McMahon, Gorman, 
McGinnis, Sullivan, Reilly, P. H. Jones, Kiernan, Stevenson, 
Minty, Colonel Patrick H. O'Rourke of the 140th New York, 
Colonel James A. Mulligan, Colonel John P. McMahon of the 
164th New York, (afterwards) General Coppinger and his brave 
fellows from the Papal Brigade, Mulhall, Kelly, O'Keefe, Keogh, 
Cronan, Clooney, Stafford and Luther, those other gallant soldiers 
who won glory or a hero's grave, Colonels Cantwell and O'Con- 
nor who were killed at the second Bull Run, and Enright, Burke, 
Gleason, Murphy, McDermott, Bryan, McEvily, Brady, O'Neill, 
Quinlan, Cahill, Haggerty, Duffy, Mackey, Garrett and Temple 
Emmett. What a gallant roll. Their deeds and memories shall 
shine resplendent upon the pages of American history long after 
the last grandson of the last survivor of that war shall have been 
called home. 

Others there were who fought not alone with sword but with 
pen, and of these the proudest names to Irishmen are Colonel 
Alexander K. McClure, Fitz- James O'Brien and Charles G. Hal- 
pine, known to fame as "Private Myles O'Reilly," about whose 
lives there always shone a halo and whose memories shall ever be 
revered. 

Oneida County was not backward, for almost every company 
and certainly every regiment bears upon its muster rolls names 
distinctively Irish, and there is just a little quiver in our voices, 
just a little quicker throb to our heart beats, just a tinge of moist- 
ure on the eyelash when we think of the gallant commander of 
the 14th Regiment, General Jim McQuade. You who knew him, 
loved him deeply, and although born here in Utica, there was no 
truer or more typical Irishman in the ranks. 

In many localities companies composed entirely of Irish by 
birth or extraction were formed and these were joined with other 
companies in forming regiments. The 140th New York recruited 
at Rochester had two Irish and two German companies, while the 
others in the regiment were mostly boys from the farms. 

The 10th Ohio, 23d Illinois, and the 37th New York (Berry's 
Irish Rifles) were some of the Irish regiments not identified with 
the Irish Brigade or the Corcoran Legion, and having been bri- 

77 . 



gaded with other peoples, their individuality as purely Irish or- 
ganizations was lost sight of. 

The Corcoran Legion was organized after Colonel Corcoran's 
release from Richmond in the month of August, 1862. It was 
originally intended that it should be composed of eight regiments, 
but these were consolidated into five, the 69th National Guards, 
and the 105th, 164th, 170th and 175th New York Volunteers. 
The last named was later distributed among the others to recruit 
them to full strength. While the Corcoran Legion saw plenty of 
service of one kind and another, and did considerable fighting in 
the campaign culminating at Cold Harbor, and later in the vicinity 
of Petersburg and the Weldon Railroad, the real laurels for Irish 
bravery on the Union side must be awarded Meagher's Brigade. 

Of course all Irishmen were not on the one side, and just as 
bravely did those battle who fought for the Confederacy. As a 
rule the Irish in the South opposed secession, but "went with their 
States." It is related that in Atlanta after the passage of the se- 
cession ordinance, many came out with cockades in their hats. 
None of the Irish residents wore the cockades. A number of 
them were being jeered at one day, when one of the party re- 
sponded, "We don't talk. We fight." And so it was. They had 
companies at the front in the early days of the struggle, while 
many of the cockade-wearers waited for conscription. At Fred- 
ericksburg more than one fourth of the rebel forces were Irish- 
men, and that told the secret why the six deadly charges of the 
Brigade against the stone wall on the hillside were futile. The 
same kind of brave fellows stood behind it. General Pat Cle- 
burne's name is a hallowed one throughout the South. The Jas- 
per Greens of Savannah were such an other Irish fighting regi- 
ment as the 69th and they have been represented in every war 
since the Revolution. The commander at Fort Sumter when re- 
captured was John Mitchel, son of the compatriot of Meagher in 
the uprising of '48, and in the world of letters Lieutenant Theo- 
dore O'Hara who wrote. "The Bivouac of the Dead" and Father' 
Ryan, of Georgia, will stand side by side with our own soldier- 
writers, O'Brien and Halpine. 

Some of the most magnificent tributes to the valor of the Irish 
Brigade come from the South. United States Senator Patrick 
Walsh of Georgia, General Clement A. Evans and Colonel 
Sanders of the 24th Georgia have paid them deserved encomiums 
which have been published the world over. And whatever praise 
has been given them has been richly deserved, and won at a ter- 
rible sacrifice. 



Their names are indelibly inscribed upon the rolls of the Army 
of the Potomac, and written upon its every battlefield. Go dowri 
through that long list of engagements, every one of which sends 
a thrill through Northern hearts. Fortress Monroe, Yorktown, 
Williamsburg, Cumberland, Chickahominy, Mechanics ville, Han^ 
over Court House, Fair Oaks, Gaines Mill, Savage Station, White 
Oak Swamp, Malvern Hill, Harrison's Landing, Fraser's Farm,; 
South Mountain. The Irish Brigade was there each and every 
time and many are the deeds of daring and of valor performed 
by them and told in song and story. Then came Antietam and 
that glorious charge of which "Little Mac" spoke so glowingly 
in his report. "Thin grow their ranks, and thinner." But worse 
is yet to come. Think of that fateful 13th day of December, 1862,' 
which competent critics on all sides have declared was not a bat- 
tle but a wholesale slaughter, where thousands were sacrificed to 
ambition and incapacity. 

That morning the gallant general had placed a sprig of green 
in his own cap and had asked his men to follow suit. Each had 
readily responded. And, "O, the wild charge they made." Six 
times they swept up the Heights, reforming, closing up, never 
flinching, facing that terrible fusilade of grape, canister, shell, 
shrapnel and deadly minie ball, mowed down in columns, wading 
through great streams of blood, climbing over hills of the corpses 
of their fallen comrades, "marching right onward still" to the 
very stone wall whence came the avalanche of death and destruc- 
tion. They came on like whirlwinds. They fought like demons, 
but back of that stone wall and scattered over that hill were other 
bands of demon Irishmen with Kershaw, Cobb, McLaws and An- 
derson, fighting as only Irish can. That picture has been painted 
so often, the very school children know it by heart. 

And when the last ineffectual charge had been made, when the 
cannon's mouth was stilled, when the dead and dying were sought, 
and the story of that fight was sent broadcast to the world, all 
agreed that "nearest to the enemy's breastworks, nearest to the 
terrible stone wall from behind which such frightful volleys of 
death were hurled, nearest to the foe and his strongholds, were 
found the men of the Irish Brigades, the men with the green em- 
blem in their hats." 

There are only three other instances in war's annals which can 
be quoted in the same breath, — Pickett's Virginians at Gettys- 
burgh, the Old Guard at Waterloo and Nolan's Six Hundred at 
Balaklava, each of which as its tale is told and retold for, the 
thousandth time sends that strange thrill through the heart of 
man. 

79 



Of the 1200 men whom Meagher led up that hill, only 280 ap- 
peared on parade the following morning, and of the 5600 in Han- 
cock's corps more than 2000 had fallen. 

Time and again delegations of officers went back to New York 
and recruited for the Irish Brigade. And time and again it was 
needed. It is related that on that morning following Fredericks- 
burg, General Hancock said to three men in the 88th New York, 
with that freedom of expression which so often characterized the 
commander of those days, "Why in hell don't you men close up 
to your company." One of them saluted and responded, "Gen- 
eral, we are a company." That told the terrible tale of slaughter, 
as nothing else could tell it. Before that simple statement the 
lurid writings of the war correspondents, and the rhyming of 
poets must sink into insignificance. Surely "there were blossoms 
of blood on their sprigs of green." 

Soon after this seeing it would be impossible to recruit to full 
strength without retirement from the field for months, and being 
unable to obtain such leave for his brigade, brave Meagher retired 
from command. 

Again at Chancellorsville, they did their duty, and despite re- 
cruitings when Gettysburg was reached, the Brigade had fallen 
to 400 men. And however much any of us may differ with the 
religious belief of a majority of them in doctrine, theory or pre- 
cept, we can only look on and say, "Sublime !" to that picture of 
this remnant kneeling upon the battlefield to receive Father 
Corby's benediction, and then rising and sweeping on in that 
glorious charge. 

. For a time they fade from sight. Again were their depleted 
ranks filled. Once more they tread the field of battle, and in the 
East and in the West Irish valor remains the same, with never 
a shrinking man, never a wavering of the line. The Wilderness, 
Spottsylvania, Totopotomy, Cold Harbor. Each can tell its tale, 
and each bears willing testimony to the undaunted prowess of the 
fun-loving, fire-eating sons of Erin. 

It is estimated that more than 175,000 soldiers of Irish birth 
or descent fought in the ranks of the victorious Union Army. 
Many fill nameless and unmarked graves, some died of wounds, 
others of disease, still more have succumbed to human ills in the 
years of peace that followed. Few are their numbers now, white 
their hair, unsteady their step, but tales of their deeds of daring 
and of valor, their sunny smiles and grim jokes in the face of 
death shall ever remain, striking monuments to their memory. 

One of the tributes paid the Irish soldiers was : 

80 



"Whether storming the bloody heights of Fredericksburg or 
checking the enemy's advance at Fair Oaks and Malvern Hill, or 
making the fearful dash at Antietam, or rescuing the abandoned 
cannon at Chancellors ville, or sweeping Early from the Shenan- 
doah, or in planting the Stars and Stripes on the walls of Atlanta 
and Savannah, the Irish soldier has won a high reputation; and 
the greatest detractor of his race, even the London Times itself, 
has not dared to question his bravery as a soldier, or his devotion 
to the flag under which he fought." 

One quotation more and I close. You remember that prior to 
the blowing up of the Maine in 1898, the country teemed with 
A. P. A. and other anti-Irish organizations. And since the pub- 
lication of the Maine's death-list showing 182 Irish out of 267 
foully done to death by that terrible explosion, those organizations 
seem to have faded from the face of the earth, so far as the 
United States is concerned. It was that list of Irish names which 
inspired Joe Clarke's now famous poem, "The Fighting Race," 
that has been copied in every unprejudiced newspaper and maga- 
zine published in the English language. The closing stanza of 
that poem describes Irish valor with that tinge of humor so dear 
to the Irish heart: 

" 'Oh, the fighting races don't die out, 

"If they seldom die in bed, 

"For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,' 

"Said Burke; then Kelly said: 

" 'When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands, 

"The angel with the sword, 

"And the battle dead from a hundred lands 

"Are arranged in one big horde, 

"Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits, 

"Will stretch three deep that day, 

"From Jehoshophat to tfie Golden Gates — 

"Kelly and Burke and Shea.' 

" 'Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod' ! 

"Said Kelly and Burke and Shea." 




81 



THE REWARDS OF OFFICE HOLDING. 

Supervisors' Banquet, 1910. 

The rewards of office holding, so far as the average office 
holder may be concerned, can be summed up in two words — 
Kicks and Curses. Now and then some fellow comes along who 
may be hanging on the outer fringe of politics and who manages 
to grab a luscious plum, through mere chance or rather because 
some other fellow has been too long and too often politically 
active, and he knows enough to squeeze out all the juice and seal 
it away hermetically. Thus he lands on Easy Street, and ten 
thousand young men figure him out as an exemplar and seek to 
travel the office-holding route so that they too may reach Easy 
Street, in the vicinity of Comfortable Avenue. 

It is the same old story. The result of one individual's good 
fortune furnishes the lure which draws the come-ons into the 
green-goods man's net. The surrounding conditions, circum- 
stances, environment, are never investigated. There is only one 
theory in connection with the matter, — "He has won out, why 
can't I ?" To attempt to offer advice to one thus smitten is ab- 
surd, — yea, preposterous. 

They never stop to look at the other side. Hidden away in 
some of the musty corners in Albany and Washington, delving 
over dusty shelves, time-worn books and ancient records and 
documents, for what might once have seemed a comfortable sal- 
ary, but which now barely furnishes subsistence, may be found 
some of the brightest personages in America. There they became 
anchored and there they remained. Living well, dressing well, 
but never thinking of the rainy day, if they should happen to be 
protected by civil service and able to dodge all the pitfalls from 
which or through which charges are liable to emanate, they re- 
main in such anchorage until death or disability claims them. 
Those who are not protected by civil service, who are subject to 
change at the whim of the people expressed in an election, acquire 
all the habits of the anchored, and if anything are more inclined 
to be in the spendthrift class. 

It has been said many thousand times by those who should be 
in position to know, that the same amount of time spent in legiti- 
mate business pursuits would produce more than ten times the 
result achieved in politics. And ninety-nine men out of every 
one hundred who have dabbled in politics will vouch for the 
truth of that statement. 

Look at the fellow who has vainly tried the leading of a for- 

82 



lorn hope on several occasions, spending his good money chasing 
a will-of-the-wisp, believing that lightning cannot always strike 
in the same place. If he starts off with a competence, the habit 
only leaves him when he is hroke. If he have nothing when the 
first entry is made, the last race generally finds his a prominent 
name on the judgment dockets of his county. 

Then there is that other fellow who got the start, basked awhile 
in the sunshine as one of the favorites of a fickle populace, then 
on a second or further try found the truth of the words in the old 
song, 

"He has lost his popularity 

"And that is worse than crime." 

Outside of the race track, nowhere else do former favorites be- 
come has-beens or down-and-outs so quickly as in the political 
game. And the percentage of come-backs is not much greater 
than in the prize ring. 

The two classes last spoken of can be exemplified by a story 
they long ago told in a Western State. It was in one of those 
localities where the poorhouse wagon made regular calls upon the 
various villages and hamlets to pick up the paupers bound for the 
county poor farm. At one stop an old fellow got in, scarcely 
noticing an occupant who had entered the wagon at some pre- 
vious stop. And scarcely had the second man entered the vehicle 
before he began soliliquizing, "Well, well, this is pretty hard. 
Here I am, going to the poor house, and to think that twenty- 
four years ago I ran for County Clerk of this county against 
Henry Chambers. If I had only been elected then, how different 
things might have been." The first occupant of the vehicle then 
broke in with, "What, are you Wallace Burton? And going to 
the poor farm?" "Yes," responded the other, "I am Wallace 
Burton, and I am going to the poorhouse. And what might your 
name be, stranger?" "O, I am Henry Chambers, the man who 
beat you for County Clerk twenty-four years ago, and I am going 
to the poorhouse too." 

Of course all officeholders and candidates do not wind up in 
this fashion, but yet the cup holds far more of bitterness than of 
honey. There is often the boss demanding the performing of 
things impossible when viewed in the light of self-respect. To 
follow him without a murmur arouses the vengeance of the popu- 
lace, — to break with him means the loss of future nominations, 
unless he die or be overthrown. It requires a skilled acrobat or 
juggler to keep the middle course and stand in well both ways. 

83 



But the fellow who attempts the performance generally slips and 
falls before many exhibitions of his agility can be given. 

And then there is the ingrate whom you help along, for whom 
you boost, whose coffers you help fill, and who no sooner lands 
upon his feet than he wants to put you out of business, because he 
thinks you constitute a standing menace to his greater popularity. 

Then again is the fellow whom you take to your bosom as a 
subordinate, for friendship's sake or bcause of auld lang syne 
r^eminiscences between the families. You teach him all about the 
office you hold, mingle him in close touch with all your friends, tip 
off all your political secrets to his willing ear, and then find that 
he is secretly taking steps to supplant you, and massed behind him 
are many of those friends to whom you introduced him. 

Verily there are a thousand other heart-burnings and scalds in 
the game, and to narrate them seriatim would require more time 
than has been allotted for the entire program tonight. In office 
holding, as probably in no other line of business, does the truth 
come home most forcibly of that famous old adage, "Virtue is 
its own reward." 

You and I have seen men who made good in executive offices 
dethroned by some whiffet or popinjay who could not make good 
in a thousand years, simply because the tide was running all one 
way, making it what the newspapers call a "yellow dog year," 
when any old thing on the right ticket goes through. Judges who 
have shone above all their predecessors have been made to bite 
the dust because of some fancied slight to some would-be leader 
and his following. There is scarcely one man in ten or twenty 
thousand who dares stand up openly and speak his mind upon 
any current question, and then go before the people as a can- 
didate. 

"Better a day of strife 

"Than a century of sleep," 

said a good old southern poet whom I love to quote and whose 
manly sentiments have thrilled many a stalwart breast, but in 
politics there are a greater number of advocates of the policy 
enunciated in 

"He who fights and runs away, 
"May live to fight another day." 

How few can drop out of the game when their original ambi- 
tions have been satisfied. I believe it was our esteemed fellow- 
townsman, Roscoe Conkling, who coined or at least first applied 
to officeholders that phrase, which for so many years has echoed 

84 



and re-echoed on the hustings and in the public prints, "Few die, 
and none resign." 

The most of us either jumped or were pushed into this game 
at tender years, and we generally become too old to learn any- 
thing else before the taste dies out, if ever. And when you have 
looked the board all over, the only conclusion that you can draw 
is that office holding has no rewards worth mentioning, except 
satisfaction and self-respect. And to obtain them in politics one 
must govern his course by Kipling's latest poem, 

"If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you ; 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you. 

But make allowances for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting. 

Or being lied about don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated don't give away to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise ; 

"If you can dream — and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim. 
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

And treat those two impostors just the same. 
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools. 
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken. 

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools ; 

"If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

And never breathe a word about your loss ; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will which says to them : 'Hold on !' 

"If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue. 
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch. 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. 

If all men count with you, but none too much ; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run. 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 
And — which is more — you'll be a Man, my son!" 
85 



"EULOGY OF THE DEAD." 

Elks' Lodge of Sorrow, Troy, N. Y., December, 4, 1910. 

"For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
"Nor busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
"No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
"Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share." 

The toll of Death for the year has been levied, and wherever 
a lodge of Elks is located, the surviving members are gathered 
this afternoon to render their tributes of love and affection to 
the departed and deliver a message of sympathy and tenderness 
to those afflicted by bereavement. 

The Present is but the thin, hazy line of demarcation between 
those two vast eternities. Past and Future, which surround us on 
either side. To some that Present may seem a generation or even 
a lifetime, but to the many it is but the tick of the clock, the 
stroke of the bell, or at best the stretch from one midnight or 
sunrise to another. Howsoever according to personal fancy we 
may measure time, the fact remains that each measurement means 
the close of human lives, be they few or many. 

The footfall on the pavement, the snapping of a twig, the clos- 
ing of a door, are but trifling incidents occupying an infinitesimal 
space of time, yet simultaneously with each of these trifling in- 
cidents a human being has drawn the last breath and abandoned 
life's weary battle. 

Alas ! In most instances, how soon forgotten ! The floral ex- 
pressions of sympathy wither and fade before the earth has been 
fairly heaped upon the grave. The glowing tributes of the news- 
papers soon drift into casual mention, and then forgetfulness. 
Even the monuments erected in testimony of the love of the sur- 
vivors, stand not long before they too give evidences of that decay 
which so surely attacks all that bears semblance of mortality. 

From the somber musings of the saddened soul of one of the 
best beloved poets of the Southland, that land of flowers, poesy 
and song, there crept forth this verse : 

"The dials of earth may show 

"The length, not the depth, of years, 

"Few or many they come, few or many they go, 

"But time is best measured by tears." 

What a world of truth in those soulful lines ! Quickly speed 
the hours of joy and gladness, but leaden wings retard the pias- 
sage of our woe and sadness. 

86 



Mark Twain in one of his serious moments, penned these 
descriptive words, ''When all these things shall have sunk down 
the afternoon of history, and the twilight of tradition, and been 
swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion." And in the accom- 
panying passages there gleams forth the tender, pathetic soul 
which, alas, was forced too often to hide itself that a reputation 
as a humorist might not be lost or marred. And as it was with 
the great author who looked into men's hearts, so must there be 
with every sentient being, exposure temporarily at least of the 
traces of the dual personality which can never be thoroughly 
obliterated. And it is well for all mankind that we are able to 
mingle and intersperse the laughter, joy and sunshine of 
our natures with the tears, sadness and clouds that inevitably 
belong to our other selves. 

Life is but a struggle at best. Real happiness has been in the 
grasp of the very few and then only for a limited space of time. 
Most of us have had fleeting glimpses of that elusive rarity, and 
we ever strive and endeavor to again get within its hallowed 
reach. And yet with all its seams, its burdens, its crosses and its 
hardships, only a small minority willingly surrender life when 
that call to eternal silence is made. 

The Golden Rule has long been the creed of the Elk. Through 
life it is his endeavor to smoothen the furrows and the ridges in 
the pathway of his fellowman, to help the needy, to lift up the 
fallen, to dry the tears of humanity, to soften the looks of anger, 
to pass along the pleasant word and the contagious smile. And 
with the practice of that creed from day to day he grows in that 
grace, which counts for future store, be his faults and lapses 
what they may. 

The. Elk faithful through all time to his obligations, fears not 
life's close. He looks upon the transition from earth's sphere to 
the hereafter with eyes unfilled by wonderment, doubt or agony. 
He glides forth bravely from the shadows where he has battled 
manfully and nobly borne his part into what most of us believe 
to be "the dawn of a never-ending day." 

We gather not merely to grieve for the dead, not to freshen 
and start anew the tears of mourning kindred. Rather do we 
meet today to take away from thoughts of Death, its fears and 
stings and terrors ; to point out the good qualities of our deceased 
brethren, forgetting whatever frailties or infirmities any of them 
may have possessed; to imbue the survivors with thoughts of 
right living; to banish fear and superstition, and bring more 
nearly all human-kind within one great brotherhood. 

87 



New names have been graven on the "mystic roll call" of our 
mortuary tablets, and each recurring year will bring its additions. 
Those who today are apparently enjoying the best of health may 
be numbered with next year's enrollment, while those now seem- 
ingly within the shadow may remain with us many years to come. 
Today our thoughts are reverently fixed upon the memories of 
those whose names are newly graven. Death made his choice 
from young and old, from grave and gay, from weak and strong 
alike. Each one of the departed held his place in the hearts of 
his brethren. And yet the disparities in age, in temperament, in 
strength, which seem so great to us at the passing moment, dis- 
appear almost in the twinkling of an eye. The term of life is so 
short that when viewed dispassionately, as such things must al- 
ways be in the future years, it will seem as though each one had 
filled out "the allotted span." 

The greatest history making period in the world's annals was 
undoubtedly that stretch of years from the fall of the Bastille to the 
battle of Waterloo. As we casually read of them now, the figures 
of that age appear to be giants whose lives were unusually long. 
The heightening of color in this respect is caused by impressions 
long since created and handed from generation to generation. 
The cold facts when searched out show unto us Mirabeau dying 
in the early forties, Danton barely passing his thirty-fifth birth- 
day anniversary, which was a boon denied Robespierre, and the 
Exile of St. Helena, though surviving long years after the passing 
of the others, scarcely seeing more than one-half of a century in 
all. 

It matters not now whence our brothers came, how long they 
tarried, or how soon their work was ended. Each labored for 
the betterment of humanity, all battled for the common good. 
With the consciousness of duty fairly performed, with the knowl- 
edge that, to the best of their ability, they have practiced the 
principles and precepts of Elkdom, carrying out its behests as 
opportunity offered, these worthy brothers have lain down life's 
burden and sought eternal rest. Never again are we to felicitate 
them with the cheery smile, the hearty greeting or the warm 
handclasp. No more are they to meet and mingle in the lodge- 
room, no more to sit with us about the festive board. The tender 
thoughts so many times inspired in their breasts as they responded 
to that beautiful sentiment, "Our Absent Brothers" will rise 
within and shine forth resplendent from others who come to take 
the places of these so recently added to that long list of "Absent 
Brothers." The endless chain thus formed shall grow and thrive 
and have its earnest devotees, let us hope and pray, so long as 

88 



humanity and civilization shall survive, and when all nations, 
kindreds and peoples shall have become one great solidarity, if 
such be the decreed fate of the universe, may the peal, the chime, 
the toll or the clang of the bell at eleven, still beget in the hearts 
of its auditors the reverent thoughts now brought home to the 
Elk Who remains mindful of the teachings of the Order. 

Brothers, you have been faithful. You have lightened the bur- 
dens of others. And when you closed your eyes in that endless 
sleep, the orisons of those others were uttered in your behalf, 
Above the caskets which contained your mortal remains, Divin- 
ity's earthly ambassadors have chanted, "Ashes to ashes, dust to 
dust." We now pay our last tribute as brothers to your man- 
hood, to your worth, to the fraternal love which bound you to 
us. With each and all of you, we feel that all is well. 

The lightning's flash, the thunder's roll, the cataract's roar, 
the loftiness of the mountain peak, and all of Nature's 
grandeurs, sometimes lead us away with their raptures into for- 
getfulness of that homely truth, "The noblest work of God is 
man." These were men. To them and of them we say, "Fare- 
well ! We hope to meet again some day in famed Valhalla. And 
until then your memories shall be tenderly cherished, as in time 
we expect others to cherish our own, in the list of The Absent 
Brothers'." 




89 



THE BOX-CAR TYPOGRAPHER. 

Response at the Annual Banquet of Schenectady Typo- 
graphical Union, May 20, 1911. 

There are only a few of us left. And we old-timers must 
acknowledge with a mournful sigh that the craft and its crafts- 
men have undergone wonderful evolutions. We charge it up to 
the linotype, but we must confess that there are some other 
causes. Alas, the world is changing, or rather has changed. To 
turn back thirty years puts us in another world completely. The 
telephone was a struggling infant, the typewriter an upper case 
monstrosity, the arc light a coming possibility, the touring car a 
weird unknown, wireless telegraphy a dream, and aerial naviga- 
tion worse than three unknown quantities. 

But what need had we for any such creations. For had we 
not the companionship of the peregrinating printer, the typo- 
graphical tourist or the box car 'bo, whichever appellation his 
fancy seemed best suited with? And he was truly a rich and 
rare old gem. How every lad in his time envied him. How ad- 
miringly the galley-boy gazed upon his wrinkled visage and what 
draughts of inspiration were drawn in from his tales. And the 
young man just out of his time and holding down cases on the 
first rag upon which he had ever worked. What envy, what re- 
solves to equal and excel the touring record of the last arrival 
permeated his breast. Just as soon as parental objections could 
be removed so as to allow of seeking fortune at a distance, that 
young man vowed to be out on the road. And sometimes the ob- 
jections didn't count, and the cases were jumped. And the boys 
who had already hit the road a clip or two ! How gladly they 
extended the hand of fellowship. How easily they stood for the 
panhandle, — for they had been on the other end of that game 
too. A two-bit piece got a bracer and a shave, and then one of 
the boys calmly took a half day off and handed over six bits to 
the tourist to throw in his case, or rather left it where it could 
be secured when the throwing-in operation had been concluded. 
Did he want a night's work? Half a dozen men were ready to 
lay off just to accommodate him. And then how he could stick 
type ! And how his conversation enlivened the alley he was lo- 
cated in ! And what an argument he put up to the proof-reader 
about the galley that should have been passed to Slug Seven on 
one alleged thin-spaced line. 

A near-poet once sized him up and poured forth these lines 
along with some others : 

90 



"What paper hasn't he worked on? Whose manuscript hasn't 

he set? 
What story worthy of remembrance was he ever known to 

forget ? 
What topics rise for discussion, in science, letter^ or art, 
That the genuine old tramp-printer cannot grapple and play 

his part? 

"It is true that much grime he gathers in the course of each trip 
he takes, 

Inasmuch as he boards all freight trains between the gulf and 
the lakes. 

Yet his knowledge grows more abundant than many much- 
titled men's 
Who travel as scholarly tourists and are classed with the upper 
tens; 

And few are the contributions these scholarly ones have penned 

That the seediest, shabbiest tramper couldn't readily cut and 
mend." 

But, now, alas, those days are gone beyond recall. And when 
once in a while some of those old ghosts drift in on a freight 
train, the young men of today, manning the machines, know them 
not. The panhandle game is played, there are no cases to throw 
in, there is no room for a "sub" unless in special cases of 
emergency, and the day of the old-time hand setter is past. 

But while we live, they cannot beat us out of the memories of 
the past. Your printer of today is matter-G^f-fact, unimaginative, 
and his memory is not cultivated as a store-house of erudition. 
But the old-timer, what an imagination, what a memory he 
possessed. And the greatest enjoyment in this world is the 
possession of a memory which can delve into the past and bring 
bubbling forth the many pleasantries of by-gone days. And to 
the mind clothed with the genius of poetic imagination all of the 
things which seemed to be hardships in the olden time have 
drifted into the pleasantry class. Of all the talents we are en- 
dowed with, we can be most thankful for memory and imagina- 
tion. 

There are many memories swirling back to me to-night out of 
the vasty depths of the clamoring years agone, but one of the 
sweetest is that I carried a card of membership in the Inter- 
national Typographical Union, and another is a jumble of various 
means of free transportation, "side door Pullmans," baggage car 
fronts, mail car vestibules, upper decks, bumpers, tenders and 

91 



engine pilots. I must omit for truth's sake, "riding the rods," as 
I always considered that beneath the dignity of an artisan whose 
work was to preserve all other arts, and in this most of our great 
craft agree. 

And let me tell you that all that the schools, law offices and 
Courts were ever able to do for me in the line of education was 
but secondary to that secured in a few months of box car tour- 
ing. That was why when you picked up the old-time newspaper, 
it proved a joy to the eyes and a delight to the soul. Most of the 
men employed in its make-up had "toured" in primitive fashion. 
They had imbibed their knowledge by hard knocks, and they 
knew all the styles prevalent in newspaper work throughout the 
land. To be able to catch on at a moment's notice and make good, 
one had to set some errorless matter, and ofttimes edit it as well 
while he worked. And the proof-reader too was generally one 
of the same brand, — a man with "a heye like a heagle." You 
could read page after page understandingly then on almost any 
rag in the country and the most of it was like Dana's best. But in 
this day and generation of rapidity run riot, you cannot read over 
four lines in any paper without stopping to ruminate over what in 
the world could have been written in the copy that the linotype 
man gazed upon, when he clicked off that meaningless rot which 
now confronts you. Of course you of the newer cycle will say 
that we are old fogies and too hanged particular. We had to know 
how to spell, but you fellows can blame it on the linotype. We 
had to emit a cuss word now and then, but you gently tinkle your 
fingers down the keyboard and wind up the line with those won- 
derful modern cabali^s— ETAOIN and SHRDLU. 

Of course the old-timer chewed tobacco, but it was a gentle- 
manly looking fine cut usually, and not the alfalfa now handed out. 
And he was not averse to a drop of red liquor now and then, but 
the liquor of that day is just as scarce now as is the old-time 
tramp-printer. No, he didn't bother the churches much, but his 
word was generally as good as the preacher man's. And he 
gambled in a quiet way, too. Who hasn't jephed with the quads, 
when there wasn't a nickel in the bunch, to see who should make 
the attempt for credit at the corner dispensary ? And then among 
the roadsters, when no quads were handy, who hasn't played 
"crum or no crum" to determine which should make the next 
back door invasion and procure the breakfast hand-out? 

O ! When the leaves bud and the balmy zephyrs blow in the 
springtime, how the old memories will cling and cluster, and how 
the oldtime roadster will wish to cast off his respectability and 
glide back upon the road. It is well for him that he does not 

92 



attempt it, for the rudeness of the shock he would receive there- 
from might bring a quickened wakefulness that would forever 
disgust him with the pleasures of memory and imagination. 

The old-time tramp-printer is for the most part filling some 
unmarked grave. The scattered remnants of the tribe remind 
one of the disappearing American Indian. But the world was 
better that he had his being and lived and breathed. Many was 
the bit of sunshine he scattered. Many the smile he brought to 
faces usually wreathed in clouds — his last dime he always 
divided,— when he had two shirts or two collars, the one not then 
in use was always at the service of his neighbor, and the whole 
world was his neighborhood. 

He is gone or fast going. Peace be to his ashes and memory. 
God bless that type of humanity. We will shed no tears, for 
tears were things he shunned. But drink he loved, and so in keep- 
ing with that love which distinguished him, let us drink to the 
memory of the old tramp-printer. 




93 



TRIBUTE TO SMITH M. LINDSLEY, DECEASED. 

Delivered at Memorial Meeting, Oneida County Bar 
Association, May 19, 1909. 

Activity beyond compare ; bravery of mind and heart and 
body; character of the highest type; devotion to right, to Nation, 
State, county and city; endeavor to stand in the first rank of his 
profession; fearlessness, the attribute of the honest soul; gen- 
erosity to the deserving; hardihood to bear pains, aches and ills; 
individuality, which shone out of every act, word and deed; 
justice to all humanity; kindliness of feeling, despite a pretended 
rough exterior; loyalty to home and family; manhood which 
compelled admiration ; negativeness never ; opposition to wrong, 
sham, hypocrisy and deceit; powerfulness among men without 
holding any temporary scepter or satrapy; quaintness of speech 
which never lost force; reliance upon self in the superlative de- 
gree ; serenity and strength without stint ; terror to wrongdoers 
and falsifiers; usefulness in every walk of life; vigor and vim to 
the end; watchfulness of the interests entrusted to his care; ex- 
ceptionality in mental attributes ; youth fulness despite the creep- 
ing years; zeal and zest which never flagged — these are but a 
few of the characteristics of him who has gone. Every letter of 
the alphabet indexing some trait, there is no wonder that we 
loved and honored him. 

Men made in his mold are rarely met. Power he never sought. 
Apparently fierce and strenuous in demeanor, his heart-strings 
were always touched by the wants of the afflicted. His soul 
could not brook the glory which came from the ashes of ruined 
homes and blighted lives, and over the prostrate forms of broken- 
hearted women and sobbing children. 

His name and his rank in the profession shall live long years 
to come. His memory shall be an inspiration to guide us along 
the lines of professional duty and in the direction of the highest 
goal. 

His dauntless courage never forsook him, and he met the 
King of Terrors with the same calmness and complacency with 
which he would undertake the trial of an action. 

With him all is well, and I believe his feeling upon the ques- 
tion of death to have been much the same as my own, so aptly 
stated by Tennyson : 

"Sunset and evening star. 
And one clear call for me ; 
And let there be no moaning of the bar 
When I set out to sea." 
94 



ON THE DEATH OF VICE-PRESIDENT SHERMAN. 

Before the Oneida County Bar Association, 
November 2, 1912. 

From the date of the formation of the county, the Bar of 
Oneida has furnished many figures of national greatness — some 
achieved distinction in the profession, some in the civic world, 
while others excelled in both careers. And now the last of them 
has passed away. No longer can we lay claim to the nation-wide 
distinction of any member practicing at our bar. 'Tis two and 
thirty years this month since first I conned the pages of a Black- 
stone, and within my memory this Bar has been called upon to 
mourn the passing of Horatio Seymour, Alexander S. Johnson, 
Ward Hunt, William J,. Bacon, Roscoe Conkling, Francis Kernan, 
J. Thomas Spriggs, and now of him who has gone within the 
passing week. They were Congressmen, and Judges, and Gov- 
ernors, and United States Senators. One had held the highest 
judicial position our system of government knows, and another 
had refused that very place. The fame that each acquired, the 
luster that his career shed upon our Bar, the reflected glory which 
thiat career brought to our city and county was but of a passing 
nature, as must all things human be. And yet their reputations 
and achievements live long after death and serve to spur on to 
greater efforts and higher goals the men of the newer generation. 

Our friend who has just left us probably acquired the greatest 
distinction of them all. To stand almost within touch of and with 
but one life intervening between the governmental supervision of 
nearly one hundred millions of people, by the choice of those 
people themselves, can of necessity be the lot of but few. And 
the man who can hold such position, wield such power, and still 
smile genially upon all of his old-time neighbors, answering to 
the name of boyhood, never pretending stiff-necked dignity, 
proves to the world that democracy is the great underlying prin- 
ciple which governs the hearts, directs the heads and shapes the 
courses of most of the Americatis in public life. 

By reason of the sphere he occupied in the broader field of 
governmental work, the narrow field of the law knew less of Mr. 
Sherman than it would have liked to have known. Early came the 
call to him to take up the problems of civics, and his time was 
almost continuously occupied in that direction. It does not take 
an old man to remember when John Batchelor, as chairman, 
named James S. Sherman as secretary of his party's County Com- 
mittee. Then came that chairmanship to him, and it seems only 
a short time since he was chosen Mayor of our city. 

95 



I remember well about that time, or shortly after, the prophetic 
utterance of Charles M. Dennison, who was one of the keenest 
judges of men: "Young man, if you intend to stay in politics on 
that side of the house, tie up to Jim Sherman. He will make his 
mark." 

The memory comes back, too, of the campaign of 1890, which 
proved disastrous to us both, and of the friendly, sympathetic 
hand-shake' which welded together our souls in that trying hour 
of defeat. 

And with the changing of the years and the changing of align- 
ments came the time when we were pitted against each other in 
the strife of political combat — the last fight he was forced to 
make of a local character, and possibly the fiercest.battle of them 
all. Providence knew what it was about when the eagles of vic- 
tory were permitted to perch upon his banner, for it was the 
outcome of that contest more than all else that brought to him 
the Vice-Presidency which he has so ably filled for nearly four 
years past. 

And now, while still in the flush of manhood, with the right 
to expect many years of life, the grim summons came, and he 
answered it, as each of us must some day respond to that same 
call. 

James Schoolcraft Sherman, Vice-President of the United 
States, has passed away. Peace to his ashes, and hallowed be his 
memory. 



96 



ON THE DEATH OF FREDERICK G. FINCKE. 

Before the Oneida County Bar Association,, 
November 7, 1912. 

As one of the committee on necrology appointed by him, I fain 
would lay a tribute upon the bier of our departed president. With 
an acquaintance stretching back more than three decades, and a 
firm friendship nearly the same length of time, the death of Fred 
Fincke comes in the nature of a personal loss. 

Those who knew him best had for him a kind of worship, and 
yet he believed not in homage of that sort. He was an iconoclast, 
and not believing in idols, refused to be one. His was a rare 
nature. In him there was a blending of qualities of mind and 
heart that denoted rare genius. His language was a Niagara of 
rare gems. Men loved to hear Fred Fincke talk. Listeners could 
be commanded in the cigar-store, the club, at the political meet- 
ing, in the court-house. 

When it was known that he was to address a jury, lawyers left 
their offices, merchants their stores and clerks their desks to hear 
the brilliant plays of wit and satire and drink in the flashes of 
humor and invective which they knew would be turned loose. In 
the olden days, when it would become known that his eloquence 
was to be displayed at a political convention, many new faces 
were found in the throng, and when Fincke had closed the ranks 
grew thinner. 

He could play on ever string in the gamut of human emotion. 
Tears and laughter could be evoked from his audience at will. 
He possessed not only the power to lift mortals to the skies, but 
almost that other potentiality, to draw angels down to earth by 
the force of his magnetic eloquence. His triumphs in the crowded 
court-room were many, but possibly the event which crowned him 
as an orator was that magnificent welcoming address to the great 
Conkling, upon the latter's return from Europe, away back in 
1877. Those who heard it, and they numbered as many thousands 
as that broad terrace on Rutger Street could hold, stamped it as 
a classic, and have ever since refused to forget the speech and 
the occasion. 

Hypocrites drew from his nature naught but contempt. He 
loved to tear from the faces which wore them the masks of sham 
and cant. He believed in the equality of mankind, and never 
sought special privilege or courted favor. He loved to be called 
by the diminutive of his first name, and no one, not even the 
stateliest dame of proud colonial lineage, felt distressed or de- 

97 



meaned when he too addressed by Christian name. What would 
be familiarity in others was knightly grace in Mr. Fincke. 

To many here present life will not seem the same without him. 
In this association he took a deep pride, and we never again at 
our annual gatherings shall see and hear a toastmaster who will 
shine for us as he has done in the past. The law loses a strong 
limb, men a good friend, the city a superb citizen, humanity one 
of its closest students. It will be many a day before we look upon 
his like again. 




98 



ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS D. WATKINS. 

Before the Oneida County Bar Association, 
•December 30, 1912. 

Gazing in retrospect, it seems but yesterday that this fair- 
haired, bright-faced lad came into our midst and straightway won 
a place in all our hearts. It is but twenty years all told — years 
that have passed all too soon. And in that brief space of time 
Thomas D. Watkins won for himself a name and a station which 
most of us could envy and only a few hope to attain, even with 
lives extended far beyond the ordinary length. 

He was a marvelous man. Manhood and character were hi^ 
chiefest assets, and these he possessed in plethora. There was a 
deep religious tinge to the man, and his religion was. of the soul, 
not that of affectation. It is often repeated that corporations 
have no souls, and the attorneys who represent them are quite 
likely to be charged with being soulless, too. But this one had a 
soul, as can be proven by a case in point. A young employee of 
the New York Central had lost a limb, and for that loss brought 
action. The only other witnesses were still in the employ of the 
road, and they did not prove of much use upon the trial. The 
boy lost his suit, but Mr. Watkins came to him and his attorney 
and said : 'T am sorry for you. I will be compelled to enter up 
this judgment for costs against you, but no attempt will ever be 
made to enforce collection. And some day in the future come to 
me and I will see that the judgment is satisfied." 

Mr. Watkins was big and broad. We know that in large meas- 
ure he was self-made. And yet he never forgot any little kind- 
nesses that had been shown him along the road, when at first the 
struggle was hard and bitter. Most men believe themselves self- 
made, and but few are willing to allow credit for assistance to 
any other source. Not so our departed friend. One night he was 
filling the toast-master's station at a banquet, and one of the 
speakers was the man who had procured for him, an unknown 
youth little more than a year in town, an introduction into politi- 
cal life and a nomination for member of Assembly. There was 
no chance to win, and he knew it, but it gave the chance to people 
to hear him and to learn that a new force and power had arisen 
in the community. From that hour his progress had been steadily 
onward and upward, and he had outstripped the sponsor. There 
were but few who knew the story, and yet Tom Watkins told it 
with a genial warmth which came from the heart and won great 
applause from his hearers. It was the bigness and broadness of 

99 



the man's nature showing itself and giving to another part of the 
credit for the fame he had himself attained. 

His life was an inspiration to the young men of the profession. 
With him it was * 

"Work, work, work, in the dull December light. 
And work, work, work, when the weather is warm and bright." 

There was no task too gigantic for him to undertake, no burden 
too heavy to bear. And it was because of that capacity for work 
too great for the physical constitution with which Nature had en- 
dowed him, and the overpowering energy which consumed his 
frail body, that we are now compelled to mourn his loss. 

With a happy home, a loving wife, beautiful children, and all 
the best of human surroundings about him, all to live and love 
and hope for, it seems that his life should have extended far be- 
yond the early forties. But the inexorable and inscrutable sum- 
mons was served upon him. To that home we must turn our 
eyes, our thoughts, our prayers. And in the years to come let us 
hope that at least one of those he leaves behind shall take up his 
father's footsteps and win, if that be possible, a higher name and 
a greater fame in the law than the name and fame so conspicu- 
ously won and worn by our distinguished departed brother. 




100 



ON THE DEATH OF HON. THOMAS S. JONES. 

Before the Oneida County Bar Association, 
February 21, 1913. 

"Fast falls the eventide." 

Still another bolt has fallen upon the Bar of Oneida. Another 
stalwart veteran has made his last earthly plea and has been 
called to plead at the Bar of Eternal Judgment. 

Thomas S. Jones was a born fighter. He loved fighting men. 
He loved the heat of the court-room's battle, and he fought clean 
and straight. A favorite Southern poet, in one of his little gems 
of poesy, gave us this phrase — 

"Better a day of strife 
Than a century of sleep." 

To Tom Jones these words meant something. He was not of 
the slumberers. He believed in action, in vigorous work, in giving 
to his clients the best that was in him, and that was much indeed. 
And a day of- strife in the court-room was his meat and drink. 
He thrilled at the thought of it, just as a cavalry charger thrills 
at the sound of the bugle which calls him into action. 

Brainy, ingenious, a master of resource, possessed of an 
analytical mind, with natural forensic ability of a high order, and 
a keen knowledge of human character; with all these advantages 
in his favor as a pleader and advocate, coupled with the fact that 
he was a close student and well grounded in the law, it did not 
take him long to climb to a high place in the profession. 

That profession he loved. It was his wish, his aim, his hope 
to keep it clean. Every effort and endeavor in that direction was 
put forth by Mr. Jones, not only while an officer of this associa- 
tion, but while serving as a private in the ranks. 

While some of his chiefest successes were in the line of private 
practice, yet it was his brilliant service a's District Attorney of 
Oneida County which will probably be longest remembered. He 
was a terror to evil-doers, and yet of kindly disposition to the real 
unfortunates. During his entire incumbency of that position there 
was never a hint made of favoritism or partiality. He knew no 
master, and while outside of the District Attorney's office he may 
have dabbled in things political, yet in the performance of those 
duties he never permitted the faintest trace of the political aroma 
to touch his garments or enter any room or building wherein he 
was engaged. 

He was a specialist. Not a specialist in a single branch or de- 

101 



partment of our great profession, but a specialist in every rami- 
fication of the law. Country born and country bred, he had no 
chance to take up with" a specialty. Like all the old-time lawyers 
from the country, he became an all-around man. The curriculum 
there prescribed made him thorough and painstaking, two quali- 
ties which in the long run stood him in good stead. 

He had a social side to his nature, too. He was agreeable to 
meet, pleasant in intercourse, the lover of a good joke, a pleasur- 
able associate, a kind friend. He turned no deaf ear to appeals 
for or from the distressed. To young men in the profession he 
was a tower of strength, and many have profited by his kindly 
advice. But not alone by these will he be missed ; the blow falls 
alike upon us, whether we be of the coming generation, of those 
in manhood's prime, or in the ripeness of good old age. We all 
knew and loved him. We felt he was our friend, and now that 
he has gone we hold many tender memories of his work, his 
thought, his action, his life in our midst, in loving remembrance. 




102 



WHY WE ARE HERE. 

President's Address, U.. F. A. Alumni Reunion, 
June 24, 1910. 

Among the lost records of history is the authorship of that fa- 
mous epigram, "We're here because we're here." Some insist that 
Shakespeare coined the phrase, while others ascribe it to Victor 
Hugo. There are those who claim that its first enunciation was 
by Napoleon upon the plains of Phillippi, while yet a goodly num- 
ber maintain that Balaklava was its birth-place and Roosevelt its 
parent. Mark Twain, Eugene Field, Bill Nye, Petroleum V. 
Nasby and Mister Dooley have each in turn pleaded not guilty to 
the charge of shoving the statement forth fatherless upon an un- 
feeling world. Whoever said it, spoke well. It was the real 
goods — even Sim Ford and Chauncey Depew would be willing 
to stand for it. Fred Fincke never expressed anything more epi- 
grammatic. It means all that it says, and says all that it means. 
Some muse, unfortunately now unidentified, grappled with the 
thought and framed it into deathless song, making a classic that 
shall stand for all time with those other lyrics of the past, "A 
Fond Mother was Chasing Her Boy 'Round the Room," and 
"Forty-nine Blue Bottles Ahanging on the Wall." 

For to-night let the epigram and its musical soul-mate, with the 
unknown authors of both, fade back into the original case of 
mystery which enshrouded them. The fact still remains; — we 
are here. 

Now, why is it? An eminent authority in a recent outbreak 
intimated that sentimentalism was dead, and that the enlarged 
shillelah was the only thing with which to do business in these de- 
generate days. And do you know when the return postal cards 
for this festive occasion commenced to arrive I felt very much 
inclined to agree with somebody on the Egyptian and several 
other questions. There must be nearly three thousand Academy 
graduates scattered around the world somewhere, unless the mor- 
tality ratio among them has been unusually high. Up to last year 
625 of them had enrolled in this organization, at least 70 per cent, 
of whom attended one reunion or paid one or two years' dues 
only. To each of those enrolled was sent a postal card. Invita- 
tion slips were handed the members of this year's class. Other 
suggested names to the number of 250 were mailed reply cards. 
Thus one thousand were notified, and less than two hundred re- 
sponded. Some of those who did not get notices, who have never 
attended or enrolled, are indignant, I am told, at our neglect of 
them. It is we, the active members, who have the right to be 

103 



indignant at them for their neglect of us in the past. There has 
never been a surplus in the treasury. In fact, a couple of former 
administrations left legacies in the shape of "Irish dividends." 
As a consequence, we could not spend the $60 necessary to pur- 
chase three thousand reply postal cards, and we did not feel justi- 
fied in asking any printer to venture his good money in a doubt- 
ful cause. 

We who are enrolled and who have fought the fight through 
the years are here because we still believe there is a little senti- 
mentalism left in humankind. We love our city, we love the 
name "The Utica Free Academy." We are thankful to the peo- 
ple of Utica for maintaining the institution which gave the most 
of us more than half a chance in life. The memories of the old 
days cling and cluster, recalling friendly faces of bygone years 
and bringing back to life forgotten ideals of youthful brains. 

My school days were crowded into ten years'. I commenced at 
five and wound up at fifteen. I never spent a day in school out- 
side of one block. I never pass the old Academy building, now 
used as the Bleecker Street School, but a feeling of joy and pride 
and loyalty wells within me. Whenever I gaze upon the structure 
under which we are now enroofed, the feeling is one of awe and 
grandeur. We of the olden days had only sentiment to keep us 
up. You of the later years, because of the increased facilities 
and opportunities presented, should certainly be more loyal to alma 
mater than the old-timers. 

Not enough has been made of this institution by its alumni, 
and as a consequence the outside world is too prone to make little 
of it. The average Academy graduate seems to fade from sight 
shortly after graduation, many of them leaving the city of course. 
Those who remain seem to take little interest in the affairs of the 
old school or of its alumni association, or even of the city at large. 
In the thirty years since my graduation there have been three 
Academy boys who held the office of Mayor, and scarcely more 
than half a dozen who crept into the School Board. At the pres- 
ent time there are three of the cult in the City Hall, and such are 
the tragedies of political life that it might be worth the jobs of 
the other two if they were seen at any festivities over which yours 
truly presided. 

Is it not time to awaken? The officers and committees have 
done their best to insert ginger into this affair and to secure mem- 
bers. Many of you present at this portion of the exercises are 
entitled to enrollment and have never availed yourselves of the 
privilege. Do it before you leave to-night. We need you, and 

104 



the small amount of annual dues asked will help to clear the 
burdens of other years. Tell your eligible neighbors not to wait 
to be asked, but to hunt up the proper officers and enroll. With 
every one interested who is entitled to membership, with all the 
ministers, doctors, lawyers and bank presidents who ever an- 
swered to Academy roll-calls attending each annual reunion, with 
all the school teachers, who won't even come when you set a table 
separately to satisfy their appetites and stifle their objections of 
former years, with the hundreds in every walk of life who should 
be with us, this affair could each year be made the leading event 
of the City of Utica. Then would the matron and the maid, the 
gray-head, the bald-head and the collegian await for weeks in 
anxious expectance each recurring reunion. Look at Rome, Clin- 
ton, Lowville, Ilion — all the towns about us. High school reunions 
are thought as much of as "Old Home Week." Probably if the 
Central Railroad or the Gas or Water corporations wanted some- 
thing done in our direction the whole town would be stirred up 
and possibly an appropriation voted us. 

The officers of this year have done their part. Their predeces- 
sors in office have likewise fulfilled their duty. It is up to the 
rank and file. Get rid of the hookworm which prevents your 
taking interest. Jump in and take hold. Don't wait to be asked. 
Lend a hand. Your services will be appreciated. Then in a few 
years that old familiar saying, "Well, I was afraid to go ; I didn't 
think there would be anybody there I knew," will be changed to 
"I didn't dare to stay away; everybody that was anybody was 
there, and I don't like to be called a dead one." 

To those who have firmly kept the faith since this organization 
was formed, to the loyal old guard who have responded to every 
call of duty, and to the new members who have lately attached 
themselves, my parting admonition is — "Hold fast." By stand- 
ing nobly together and attracting others to your side, by drawing 
all eligible within the magic circle, you will have performed some- 
thing of which you can be proud unto your dying day, and you 
will have demonstrated to Utica and to all the world that an 
academic education stands for good citizenship, and that Utica 
may well be proud of the men and women upon whom she has 
bestowed the chances of better than an ordinary common-school 
education. 




105 



FOURTH OF JULY ADDRESS. 

Clayville, N. Y., 1911. 

To an individual a century and a third, more or less, must 
of necessity seem a long hark back in these days of short and 
merry lives. Yet in the life of the ordinary nation it is but a 
meager space of time. This nation of ours, however, has never 
been classed as ordinary. In its infancy, it was a sturdy stripling; 
in its youth, a fearless giant; to-day, in its prime, it is looked 
upon as marvelous, stupendous, sublime. 

Could that brave band of patriots who, sweltering in Philadel- 
phia on that stifling July day of 1776, as members of the Conti- 
nental Congress pledged their lives, their fortunes and their 
sacred honor to the furtherance and perpetuity of the govern- 
mental bark they were launching, but be permitted to look in to- 
day at the magnificent empire which stretches not only across the 
.continent from the eastern ocean to the western, but reaches out 
mto the vast beyond for its island possessions, how the sight 
would compel them to rub their eyes and marvel ! A scant three 
millions then have grown to nearly, if not quite, one hundred 
millions of people. 

No good American should ever be fearful of the number thir- 
teen, for it was with thirteen colonies, soon to become states, that 
this government was founded. And see how the thirteen have 
multiplied. When New Mexico and Arizona shall have com- 
pleted the operations which shall bring them within the fold there 
will be forty-eight stars in the blue field of the flag. Forty-eight 
sovereign states, and more than half of them nations within them- 
selves ! Aye, a half dozen of the number outranking in popula- 
tion, in wealth, in commerce, in industries, some of the nations 
which have held prominent sway in the affairs of the so-called 
Old World. 

From every portion of the globe came the people who assisted 
in the creation of this vastness — from every land and clime — 
seeking the air of freedom, the land where the poor had a chance, 
and if all the original immigrants did not become assimilated, cer- 
tainly the succeeding generations did. Turn to any roster of the 
names in the army, the navy, or any branch of the government, 
local, state or national, filled with good American names of to- 
day, many of which still retain their original style and spelling, 
and you will readily see the many and varied sources from which 
we have drawn our strength. 

And yet all has not been smooth sailing for our ship of state. 
At times the nights were dark and the waves ran high. Billows, 

106 



breakers, shoals, sunken rocks, false lights, tempests, poor mann- 
ers at the wheel, scuttlers aboard the craft, mutineers even in high 
places, are all found entered in the log book which tells the story 
of the cruise up to date. But back of it all was the guiding hand 
of Destiny, which foiled every plot and ruse, calked every seam, 
patched every hole, swung the scuttlers from the yardarm, ma- 
rooned the mutineers, steered clear of the beacons, shoals and 
hidden rocks, calmed the angry waves, and to-day propels the 
good boat over a fairly smooth sea beneath an almost cloudless 
sky. 

Blood and toil and treasure have been exacted. The toll of 
human life on many occasions has been heavy. The trend of 
events has at times wearied the stoutest hearts, but yet on each 
occasion Providence seems to have come to our aid and guided 
the good old ship safely to a haven. 

And yet how many of us pay attention to the history that has 
been made? How many do not know the names of even a dozen 
pioneers. Continental legislators and Revolutionary heroes, to 
whom as a people we have a right — aye, a patriotic duty — to be 
more than grateful? Those two giants of the early navy, with- 
out whose victories on the seas England could never have been 
beaten, Irish John Barry and Scotch Paul Jones, how have we as 
a nation discharged our duty toward them ? A wooden sign-board 
alone tells the tale of Barry's interment in old St. Mary's church- 
yard in Philadelphia, although Congress has provided for a public 
monument elsewhere. And it took an hundred years for us to 
muster up courage enough to hunt for the bones of the sailor 
Scot in France, and then, when we procured them, it seemed im- 
possible to select a proper resting place upon this side of the 
Atlantic. 

The one man who more than all others preached the creed of 
nationality, and spent his time and his money and used his talents 
to bring about the separation of the Colonies from England, was 
an Englishman by birth — Tom Paine. When some of those who 
became foremost in the cause after the Declaration of Independ- 
ence were holding forth as loyal British subjects, Paine was en- 
gaged in publishing and circulating his tracts and pamphlets, 
which all the British office-holders held to be seditious and trea- 
sonable. How much we really owe to Paine will never be known 
or realized, as he was a victim to the unreasoning spirit of ortho- 
doxy and intolerance then and often since prevalent. His was a 
grand and noble character, and he believed in freedom in its 
highest sense — not only in freedom of men and soil, but freedom 
of worship, speech and thought. And when this land had been 

107 



freed from the tyrant's grasp, he crossed the seas again to France, 
there to be one of the men who should aid in the hberation of the 
proletariat and in holding aloft the symbols of liberty, equality 
and fraternity. And the French repaid him no better than the 
Americans, for after a seat in the National Assembly came the 
prison cell, which fell to the lot of so many. And the accidental 
placing of the condemnatory chalk-mark upon the inside rather 
than the outside of his cell door alone prevented the guillotine 
from claiming this brave and wonderful champion of liberty as 
one of its victims. 

And in addition to the brave deeds of those who have been 
named, each of the three ancient kingdoms furnished its quota 
to the list of signers of the immortal Declaration of Independ- 
ence, and the sturdy little principality of Wales was just as well 
represented. And the names of the sons of all can be found in- 
scribed in the various regimental rosters. And the first life sacri- 
ficed for freedom, the first victim of the British soldiery, was not 
of any of these types of nationality, was not even of the Cau- 
casian race — brave Crispus Attucks, a negro slave, whom thank- 
ful Boston still honors, and whom I hope it will continue to honor 
for all time. 

And when the struggle for freedom was at its height, La- 
fayette, D'Estaing, Rochambeau and DeGrace came from France 
with men and money and fleets; DeKalb and Steuben proved to 
the world that the real German spirit was not to be found among 
the Hessians; and even Poland sent some of its best blood to 
fight our battles and share the hardships of the Revolutionary 
soldiers. Nowhere in all the annals of that extended conflict is 
there a more romantic picture drawn than that of the German 
farmers at our own Oriskany and the Dutch commanders of the 
soldiery at Rome, when they stopped the progress of St. Leger 
and Brant in their daring scheme to join forces with Burgoyne 
in the vicinity of Saratoga. Surely that was one of the crucial 
tests of the Revolutionary War, and the British defeats on the 
soil of our own beloved county made possible the glorious vic- 
tory of the American arms at Saratoga. That little-sought plot 
at Oriskany where the tall shaft towers is worthy the homage of 
all our people, and all honor, say I, to the men and women who 
are endeavoring to make of it a national park or a state res- 
ervation. 

The citing of this array of facts proves to you conclusively 
that Arnerica was almost as cosmopolitan in the Revolutionary 
period as it is to-day. And with these lessons constantly beforfe 
us, it is well to remember that there were no distinctions of race 

108 



or class or nationality or creed among those who performed yeo- 
men's service in behalf of the struggling colonies. All of these 
varying elements entered into the conflict and became thoroughly 
assimilated with the natives whose families could claim three or 
four generations residence upon the soil of the New World. And 
from the continued association, contact and intermingling of these 
varying elements grew up that spirit of tolerance and fair play 
which has generally characterized Americans and American in- 
stitutions. 

The welding together of the various types which comprised our 
nationality in the days of its infancy into one homogeneous whole 
was certainly a wondrous task. How it was accomplished can 
hardly be realized by the student who to-day delves into the 
records of that period. Legislative bodies certainly have less 
initiative and fewer evidences of originality nowadays than were 
shown in the formative stage of our country. The bosses and 
the bosslets, the bosses' understudies and bosslets' understrappers 
had not then arrived. There was no great array of wealth to pur- 
chase seats for its puppets ; there were no infant industries with 
gigantic maw, ever craving for greater protection, which must 
needs have personal representation upon the floor of legislatures ; 
there were no public service corporations seeking to perpetuate 
their hold upon communities by political control, which would let 
them drain the pockets of the poor without hindrance. No, all of 
these fellows were aboard the band-wagon of King George, whom 
they believed to be invincible. And if the same conditions existed 
to-day, these modern prototypes of the Tories of Revolutionary 
times would be found shouting "Long live the King !" and bend- 
ing their every energy to imprison and destroy those who dared 
to stand up and ask for liberty or death. Search all the pages of 
the world's history, and you will find the same types in every 
period. The one, conjured by the allurements of wealth and pelf 
and place and power, always on the side of the strong and rich ; 
the other, with rich red blood and a love of truth, right and justice 
in its veins, standing up for the weak and poor. And generally 
it is more profitable and fashionable, too, to be found in the 
Pharisee class. But in the great crises of the world tides have 
arisen so irresistible that even the rich and powerful have been 
swept away before them, crowns have been lost over night, and 
dynasties which had been centuries in the upbuilding were over- 
turned in a single hour. 

Monarchy upon these shores was an utter impossibility. The 
Almighty had decreed otherwise, and in consonance with that 
decree wonders were performed, the weak became strong, the 

109 



timid stout of heart, the cautious daring, and from the soil sprang 
men who performed wondrous deeds of valor, wresting at last 
the crown of nationality from the grasp of the tyrant. That na- 
tionality was a priceless boon, and well has it been treasured and 
guarded since first it fell to our lot. 

What giants they seem to have been as we look at them now, 
the early guardians of that nationality. And how the immortal 
Washington and the illustrious Jefferson loom above the rest, to 
be ever revered and cherished as two of the most distinguished 
characters the world has known throughout the ages. And as 
the years pass away their luster diminishes not, but grows apace. 

And when the occasion demanded, in the generations succeed- 
ing, Destiny was always on hand with the man to fit the place — ' 
Jackson for the war of 1812, Harrison for the Indian troubles, 
and Taylor for the Mexican campaign. Each of these events or 
series of events seemed portentous enough at the time of occur- 
rence, but all were to be overshadowed by the greatest war in the 
world's annals. More than half a century has passed since the 
first shot was fired in that remarkable internal conflict, and yet 
it stands out to-day most vividly upon the pages of our history. 
There are left some few who participated in that dread struggle, 
and still others who have recollections of the thrilling events which 
followed each other so swiftly, and the younger ones, according 
to the distance or nearness of their birth in relation to the time, 
have read and studied more or less of that ever interesting tale. 

From out the trials and tribulations of that period shone forth 
the gigantic figure of Abraham Lincoln, whose remarkable 
achievements at the helm of state give his name the right to be 
forever accorded a place beside the name of Washington, the one 
the father, the other the savior of his country. And the emancipa- 
tion of the slave can truthfully be called the greatest gem in Lin- 
coln's crown. 

And when that long struggle had ceased there was disclosed to 
the world, in the command of the rival armies, two soldiers whose 
fame will never be dimmed, two sons of Mars, whose names shall 
go resounding down through the ages beside those of Alexander, 
Caesar and Napoleon — Grant, the victor, and Lee, the vanquished. 

There has been only one slight passing skirmish since the death 
of the first martyred President, and while it produced temporary 
effects which here and there changed for awhile the trend of 
events, the subject meets with but little discussion now, and prob- 
ably will be glossed over by the future historian, unless the colon- 
ial question begotten of its loins should at some future date 
assume shape of magnitude or importance. 

110 



And yet to-day upon our continent there is being waged one 
of the greatest struggles that has ever been witnessed by a breath- 
less and wondering world. At last there sits in the Presidential 
chair a man who has been able to discover the evil effects upon 
the body politic of the cancerous growths of the last few years ; 
a man who does not temporize in dealing with criminals, and who 
does not compute the measure of good or evil along the lines of 
political help or political opposition. And behind him in this 
work stand all of the people who are not associated in or under 
the control of the law^breaking enterprises he is seeking to pun- 
ish, and they stand ready to follow him through to the end. 

The veils have been torn from the faces of many masquerading 
as servants of the people, who really beneath their outer garments 
wore the livery of the people's enemies. Some of those who were 
all-powerful only a few short months ago have been relegated to 
oblivion ; others who have sprung up in their places, and are. at- 
tempting to subvert the popular will and substitute therefor the 
mandates of machines and bosses, will shortly learn how grievous 
is the mistake they are making. 

The time of moral awakening is at hand. The party fetish no 
longer compels the intelligent to incline the head or crook the 
knee. The spirit of independence is abroad in the land. The 
people have decreed that the crooked corporations must be dis- 
solved, that private ownership of public officials must cease, that 
the bosses who rule in politics by financial ends for commercial 
and selfish purposes must be destroyed. If these things are not 
done, and done quickly, the gnawing of these worms at our vitals 
will continue until they have honeycombed and destroyed the 
structure of American nationality. 

There never was a political party composed of one hundred per 
cent, of honest men; there probably never will be, unless its 
membership is quite limited. But the great majority of the Ameri- 
can people believe in honesty. It is carelessness upon the part of 
the many which permits, and has permitted, the dishonest few to 
reach the high places where a number of them have recently been 
exposed. And now that they are being picked out and shown up 
in all parties, the spread of independence in thought and senti- 
ment has been wonderful. The politicians may pass all the meas- 
ures in their power to bolster up the failing strength of the po- 
lictical machines, they may create all the bi-partisan machinery 
which any brain can devise or any mind can conjecture to destroy 
popular independence, but when the people are once aroused these 
fellows will be swept aside as chaff, and the spot where once they 
stood will not be found even to locate a wooden marker. 

in 



Monopolies, whether they be poHtical, commercial or industrial, 
are destructive of the spirit of democracy, of republicanism, or 
any other recognized spirit of a free people, by whatever name 
known. The time to destroy a monopoly is at its inception. The 
smaller the community the less danger there is of monopoly; but 
yet even in small communities such things have to be watched 
closely. A small community needs water. A few of its citizens 
agree to supply it on terms advantageous to themselves, and to 
which no serious objection is offered. There are some little jokers 
in the franchise and very few restrictions. The community 
grows apace. The water company adds some reservoirs to pro- 
vide for the needed additional supply. About that time the 
stock has to have some water, too, and quite often it receives 
added measures of liquidity. The corporation some time since 
created passes into the hands of strangers, and the community 
finally wakes up to the fact that it is paying dividends upon not 
only the original investment, but upon many and various expan- 
sions of rather an imaginary nature. 

The lighting corporation is built along the same plans, is deftly 
nurtured along the same lines, and the fellows who control both 
are always ready to rush to the assistance of each other. In order 
to protect themselves, they secure representation upon partisan 
committees, and the title of the party very seldom makes any 
difiference. Sometimes the one crowd is scattered both ways ; 
more often that one crowd unites and makes itself supreme in 
one party, while the other crowd seeks to obtain the best foothold 
possible in the opposition party. And then the guerillas deploy 
regularly between the lines, knifing on one side a candidate for 
the head of the municipality, on the other side an aspirant for 
legislative honors, securing the election of servile puppets and 
defeating intelligent, reasoning men, who would not prove so 
tractable. And when matters look squally for chaps of this breed, 
they do not hesitate to bribe weak-kneed officials to betray the 
people, and in desperate moments they are even willing to count 
out by fraud the man who appears to be too antagonistic to their 
plundering schemes. 

That aphorism which has been repeated and expounded so 
often, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," was never better 
exemplified than by the disclosures recently made of the bi- 
partisan deals carried out in the Illinois Legislature. And the 
bi-partisan game produces just as much stench in the nostrils of 
the public when it is worked by so-called representative citizens 
as when the forces of a Blonde Boss and a Hinkey-Dink unite 
under one standard to pull off a trick beneficial to one or usually 

112 



all of the participants. It requires constant watchfulness upon 
the part of all the citizens at all times to prevent and frustrate 
the carrying out of schemes of this character. And that is why 
every man should be on the alert and take a hand in the game of 
politics down at the base. And if such a course were pursued 
by every citizen, just as he pursues it in his own private business, 
there would be fewer scandals in the higher strata of politics. 

What we need to-day on every hand is plain, rugged honesty, 
The man who in a business way seeks to take unfair advantage 
of his neighbor or his customer is sowing the seeds of bad citizen- 
ship. There are some who would scorn to steal a neighbor's 
doormat or his chickens, and still would think they were really 
doing something cute if they could only cheat the government 
out of a few dollars that should be paid as duty on articles of 
import. The recent disclosures in this connection may be a bit 
nauseating, but the results in future to be achieved therefrom and 
thereby will more than justify any steps that have been taken 
upon the part of the government. And when men like Loeb and 
Parr dare to stand up and do their duty, no matter how powerful 
the wrong-doers whom they smite, it gives others holding lesser 
places the inspiration to perform their duty without fear or favor. 

This recurfertce of the nation's natal day, conducted along the 
lines of safety and sanity, finds the nation as a whole in better 
shape, and its individual component parts in a much happier 
frame of mind, than many of its predecessors found them. Figu- 
ratively speaking, peace and plenty abound. And yet each one 
of us has not in his or her clothing at the present writing his or 
her per capita share of the nation's wealth. Such unfortunately 
never has been the case, and probably the millenium will not ar- 
rive in our time. What then ? Let those who have and can hold 
do their best for the common uplift, so that one year hence all of 
the deserving who are willing to help themselves shall be so much 
nearer the sunlight. The great curse of to-day is debt, and debt 
is usually begotten of credit without limit, and the wheels of trade 
and commerce only revolve through the means of credit. And 
so long as there is trade, men tell us, there must be credit, and 
so long as there is credit there must be debt, and so long as there 
is debt there must be hearts filled with woe. I only wish that I 
knew the solution of that problem — how to prevent the inevitable 
heart-breaks that follow the workings of that endless chain. 

Someone has said, "The economy of nature knows no waste," 
and we can aptly see the striking truth of that declaration when 
we look about us to-day at the beautiful green of the hillside and 
the plain. It seemed along in the spring as though in this vicinity 

113 



we should have little or no rainfall, and as a result the crops 
would amount to next to nothing. But Nature knew her own 
plan, and the rain that failed to fall in April was on hand two 
months later, and though it spoiled the rareness of many of 
June's days, the result is that the country never looked better and 
brighter. And, my friends, it is to the country that we must look 
for the prosperity of the nation. Everything comes from the 
soil — the minerals, the building materials, the paving materials, 
the crops, the food of man and beast — in fact, everything in any 
way useful to humanity comes first or second hand from the soil. 
Then we owe most of our prosperity to the tillers of the soil and 
to the toilers who have brought forth from the first instance the 
finished products demanded by civilization. And in this hour of 
the greatness of our country, it is but just that we should pay a 
passing tribute to the farmer whose labor produces everything, 
and to the mechanic who re-creates for man's use from the raw 
material most of the articles needed for his personal wants. 

An orator, who probably holds the record for the number of 
living people that have comprised his audiences, said something 
like this in one of his impassioned bursts of eloquence : 

"God made the country. Man made the city. Burn down and 
destroy all your cities, and the men and the matewal to rebuild 
them will be found at once in the country. But burn down and 
destroy the country, and the land will be desolate indeed, for 
there is not power or wealth enough in all the cities to rebuild 
and replace that country once it is destroyed." 

Let us hope, however, that neither city nor country is to be 
burned or destroyed, but that each is to lend its aid to the other, 
and that both shall work side by side without jealousy or friction 
for the comrnon good, and that from such union of labor the na- 
tion shall continue to grow and prosper, until it shall have dimmed 
and outclassed in every respect every other competing nation now 
or hereafter finding shelter upon the footstool. 




114 



THE IRISH NATIONAL SPIRIT. 

From an Address Delivered at a Banquet of Division No. 2, 

A. O. H. AND Ladies' Auxiliary, Utica, N. Y., 

March 20, 1911. 

Some centuries ago, in varying style, several men uttered the 
sentiment which has most recently crystallized into this form: 
"Let me write the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes 
its laws." 

Possibly it was because our race was so prolific with writers of 
songs, ballads and national hymns, that the British Government 
drew the inference that the Irish people needed no hand in mak- 
ing the laws which should govern them. Wrong again, Albia! 
We have written the songs, and now our kinsmen who still cling 
to the Green Isle propose to make its laws. 

I do not intend to be understood that national songs are not 
one of our great assets. In fact I believe that they are only sur- 
passed by one other, and that is Irish Motherhood. I know that 
I am and have been all my life an enthusiastic Irish Nationalist, 
and shall continue so unto my dying day, because of the plain and 
simple tales told me in boyhood days by the sainted woman who 
gave me birth. As the evening twilight descended I would sit me 
down at her feet, lay my head upon her knee for gentle caress, 
and listen over and over again to the story of the famine days 
and her own experience therein shortly before coming away from 
the loved spot fate decreed she never should see more. At other 
times I was told of the horrors which brought about the Southern 
Insurrection of '98, handed down to her from both of her grand- 
fathers, who fought in that short and bloody struggle, and who 
were of the party that marched down Vinegar Hill and through 
the ranks of the British soldiery, which ranks fear compelled to 
open for an opposing army for the first time in all Britain's his- 
tory, an event which only once since has been duplicated, — and 
then by the brave Boers in South Africa. And as I look about 
me, as I meet and converse with men and women of the blood, as 
I read and listen to the words of those who are patriotic and 
national, I know that many of them can trace it to having the 
same sort of mothers, gentle, tender, pure, loving, patriotic. And 
it gives me the inspiration to say, "God bless the old-fashioned 
type of Irish mothers ! May their numbers increase, to the glory 
of the race!" 

Having received the basic foundation for the national spirit 
at mother's knee, it is then that it is fostered and broadened by 
perusing true and unbiased history (such for instance as the con- 

115 



tinuation of Abbe McGeoghegan's narrative by John Mitchell), 
and reading not once but many times the hymns, the songs, the bal- 
lads, that have won the hearts of every civilized nation and peo- 
ple upon God's footstool, — save one. 

There is such a plethoric field to choose from, that it would 
need more than one whole evening to go over and select all the 
real good Irish poems for your attention. Every era in the never- 
ending struggle for freedom produced its own bards. And those 
who came after sang the glories of the brave departed. Brian 
Boroimhe, Fin McCuhal, Tyrone, Red Hugh, Eoghain-Ruadh, 
Sarsfield, have all been phrased in deathless song. Clontarf, 
Blackwater, Benburb, Kinsale, Dunboy, Athlone and Limerick 
are topics which have inspired not only the native-born Irish to 
woo the muse, but have given to many of our breed born and 
nurtured upon this side of the water the material for poems 
which the race wherever situated has hailed as masterpieces. 

Of course you all have heard many of Moore's Melodies sung,, 
and in spite of these melodies our friends across the channel in- 
sist upon classing him as an English poet. (The same fate pur- 
sued Goldsmith, and in prose they claimed Swift and others.) 
Most of you are familiar with some of the sweet poems of Ger- 
ald Griffin, Thomas D'Arcy Magee, Rev. Frank Mahony, (known 
as "Father Prout,") James Clarence Mangan and Mary Eva 
Kelly. "The Memory of the Dead" by Rev. John Kells Ingram, 
has been recited more often even than the "Fontenoy" of Thomas 
Osborne Davis, whose many patriotic effusions and whose per- 
sonal efforts in the cause have won for him one of the strongest 
places in Irish hearts. Many who have a passing acquaintance ^ 
with the beautiful prose works of John Banim and Samuel Lover 
never even dream that these two have penned some of the 
choicest Irish ballads. Those who have some ready recollection 
that Charles Gaven Duffy was a '48 man, was three times tried 
for treason-felony and never convicted, but was forced into ban- 
ishing himself to Australia, where he rose to be Prime Minister 
and builded a nation out of the raw material, still seem un- . 
acquainted with the fact that by his pen have been created some i 
of the rarest gems in the diadem of Irish national poetry. Time 
forbids the lengthening of the list, but here are a few who might , 
be looked up in spare moments by those who have the inclination 
and the time, — Dr. Drennan, Bartholomew Dowling, Mrs. W. R. 
(Lady) Wilde, D. F. McCarthy, Sir Aubrey De Vere, Michael J. 
Barry, Richard Dalton Williams, J. F. Waller, Samuel Ferguson, 
Edward Walsh and John Keegan. 

And though America saw his best work and is proud to claim | 

116 



him, yet to John Boyle O'Reilly, living or dead, the title of "Irish- 
man" was the greatest which man could bestow. After his con- 
viction for treason-felony because as a soldier of the Crown he 
had used expressions of good cheer for the Fenian cause, and 
confinement in one of several English prisons which were to 
know hiifi, they found scratched upon his cell wall this inscrip- 
tion : "Once an English soldier. Now an Irish felon. And proud 
of the exchange." And in the same class with him we must al- 
ways place Robert Dwyer Joyce and many of their contempor- 
aries. 

These men and women who have been briefly mentioned and 
their like throughout all the ages have served to keep alive the 
national spirit. Were it left to me to select the highest type of 
individual from all the names in the grand and great galaxy that 
litter the pages of Ireland's history, I would pick out the name of 
Michael Davitt, and enshrine him above all the others. And if 
any of you are prone to doubt upon that selection, I ask you first 
to read up on the man, follow him through all his career, through 
his days of want and sacrifice, search his heart, find out his hopes, 
his motives, his ambitions, go through his life day by day to its 
end, and then I know that you will come back and state that you 
are agreed. 

And at the risk of disagreeing with many hearers, if it were 
left' to me to designate what movement was fostered by the high- 
est and noblest instincts and what body of men came with the 
purest and strongest motives into the fight for Irish Nationalism, 
my answer would be it was the "Young Ireland" movement and 
the "Men of '48." The name of O'Connell will ever be revered 
by Irishmen and their descendants the world over, but, my 
friends, O'Connell's efforts had been directed mostly in behalf 
of the liberties of his coreligionists and took but little reck of the 
fact that outside the pale of that religion which he professed 
stood some of the bravest and truest Irishmen that ever lived. 
He was tolerant to the limit yet his great life-work had been 
taken up with a problem which excluded other problems, and the 
marvelous successes he had achieved led him to believe that only 
through his methods could any real and lasting good be attained 
for his country. 

There were many causes which led to the defeat of the Young 
Ireland party, the greatest of which undoubtedly was the terrible 
famine that for nearly three years desolated the land. Another 
cause was the break with O'Connell in '46, and through his ill- 
ness and after his death, the open opposition of his son. But 
greater in effect than either of these was the fact that events in 

117 



other countries had much to do with preventing many from join- 
ing its ranks. The spirit of Freedom was ahve in every nook and 
corner of the European continent at that hour. France arose and 
exchanged its Citizen-King for a sham republic, Kossuth had 
made and was making his brave efforts for Hungary, the young 
Germans were striving to shake off the shackles of th# old Em- 
pire, the northern Italians had resolved to throw off forever the 
Austrian yoke, and then started the movement which a dozen 
years later led to the unification of Italy. Those who were strik- 
ing the blows for liberty and nationalism everywhere came under 
the ban of that great moral force which "inhabited the statu quo," 
(to quote from Lola Montez,) and whose watchword seemed to 
be, "Let well enough alone." To their everlasting credit be it 
said, clergymen of every denomination, those who were of the 
people and who mingled with and ministered to the people,— 
pastors, curates, rectors, ministers, monks and friars alike, were 
numerous upon the side of the Young Ireland party, as they were 
numerous in every Irish struggle for freedom. But those higher 
iip in ecclesiastical dominion could see no distinction between 
these brave patriots and the men who were battling against so- 
called "constituted authority" in other lands and condemned all 
alike. From the hours of such condemnation may be traced the 
falling away in the ranks and the beginning of that fearful end 
which was suffered by those gallant men of '48. God help Ire- 
land ! That unexplainable silent enmity, of which so few dare 
speak, has too often lost its cause. The Volunteers of '82 felt it, 
the men of '98 experienced it, John Mitchel has told you of the 
woes it produced in '48, and John O'Leary and Charles J. Kick- 
ham have penned the story of its influence upon the fatal days of 
'66. In our own time we have seen the sinister opposition to Parnell 
which kept quiet during his successes, but came forth boldly de- 
fiant to rend him to pieces upon the making of a single mistake. 
And there has never been an hour in the long period of John Red- 
mond's career as leader, when many have not felt the fear that 
once again an unseen blow might be given. 

The national spirit as evinced by those daring men of '48: 
William Smith O'Brien, John Mitchel, John Martin, Charles 
Gavan Duffy, Thomas Francis Meagher, James Fintan Lalor, 
O'Doherty, Williams, O'Mahoney, MacManus, O'Gorman, Reilly, 
Leyne, and their brave and daring associates, is the true spirit of 
the race, the spirit that shall never die. Many of them after 
farcical trials before prejudiced Courts and packed juries received 
unflinchingly those barbarous sentences to be drawn upon a hur- 
dle to the place of execution, hanged by the neck until dead, be- 
headed, disemboweled, and lastly quartered, and would have gone 

118 



just as bravely to meet that fate as did the Martyrs of '98, had 
it not been commuted to. penal servitude for life. Others uncom- 
plainingly took their long sentences and died of brutality in the 
far-off convict settlements. And their struggle in behalf of the 
loved land and fellowmen demonstrated once again the truth of 
that wonderful challenging statement made by brave Hussey 
Burgh in the Irish Parliament a few years before the days of the 
'82 Volunteers : "Ireland is not at peace. It is smothered war. 
England has sown her laws like dragon's teeth, and they have 
sprung up as armed men." 

Because of the famine and the failure of the '48 movement, 
America received its greatest influx from Ireland. At the very 
same time thousands of brave Germans who had dared to make 
the same struggle for freedom our people had made and who too 
had lost in that conflict were seeking an asylum in this land of the 
free. In the contest for livelihood often the one race was pitted 
against the other. Some of those who styled themselves Anglo- 
Saxons and arrogated superiority over both were best pleased 
when the two could be kept quarreling. Quite often it was sought 
to foment strife between them by ribald songs pretended to be 
sung by the one race, reflecting upon the other. But, thank God, 
those days are happily past. And now, when in the British Par- 
liament the three men to whom the world turns as the arbiters of 
British destiny: David Lloyd-George, the Welsh Celt; John 
Burns, in whose veins there flows the blood of the Scottish Celt ; 
and John E. Redmond, who mingles Irish Celt with his Norman 
ancestry; — while these three sons of the various branches of the 
great Celtic race are sitting upon England's treasury lid and hold- 
ing down the great throttle-valve which controls the gauge re- 
sponsible for the Nation's very life, the Irish and Germans in 
America, the sons of the refugees and emigres of '48 are joined 
hand in hand to thwart the Anglo-Saxon's dearest wish. 

The London cablegrams of Saturday were enough to make a 
sensible American laugh. Japan, forsooth, wanted to renew its 
treaty four years before the present treaty expires, and America 
must join hands first to get John Bull's assistance before the wily 
Jap squeezes in. The commercial and financial interests of Lom- 
bard street think there is not a close enough relation with the 
similar institutions of Wall street, and so a new plea is made, a 
new scheme hatched, to obtain new supporters in this country for 
a British alliance. Twice has such an alliance between America 
and England been prevented by an American Teuton-Celtic fed- 
eration, and once again we must nerve ourselves for the conflict, 
which this time shall be more determined than ever. The entente 



119 



cordiale existing between the parties to this new pact has been 
exemplified locally on many occasions by the fraternal visits paid 
by the officers of organizations of the one race to events and oc- 
casions when the other celebrates, and tonight is no exception. 
And so long as the spirit of the men of '48 shall continue to exist 
among the German-Americans and the Irish-Americans, there 
will be the spirit of liberty abroad in our land, and we shall, re- 
membering the admonitions of Washington and of Jefferson, 
keep clear of entangling alliances with any foreign nation what- 
soever. For many years to come these sons of the men of '48, 
Teuton" and Celt, shall stand with arms intertwined, and their 
glasses shall clink, while the Irishman toasts his friends with 
"Hoch der Deutsche Vaterland," and the German in resonant 
voice responds, "Erin slanthagal go bragh," and when each has 
toasted the other, both shall blend their voices in the gladsome 
singing of "America." 




120 



MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS. 

Fort Plain, May 30, 1911. 

Full fifty years have passed since the opening gun was fired 
in the most prodigious war that was ever known. Three months 
was the official guess of its duration, and yet some of the original 
participants were more than four years under arms. That con- 
flict revolutionized warfare, and has kept it continually evolu- 
tionizing and revolutionizing ever since. The iron-clad of shabby 
appearance and crude workmanship which startled the world, 
though many degrees removed from was but the precursor of the 
modern Dreadnaught. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil there- 
of." The equipment of the American soldier at the first Bull Run 
would be laughed at today as inadequate in the mountain fast- 
nesses of the South American republics or along the banks of the 
East Indian rivers. And it is this wonderful advance in the arts 
of war, destruction and devastation, which is most surely tending 
toward the bringing about of a world peace. 

When war is made so deadly that none of the combatants can 
escape, then will mankind certainly realize that its international 
problems must be settled along the peaceful lines of arbitration. 
But what myriads of lives and stores of gold it has cost the 
nations to receive their primary instruction along these lines of 
education, which still need several cycles of time for completion. 
And to the crudeness of method, material and armament in vogue 
in the Civil War period is due the existence of the Grand Army 
of the Republic, that Army of Peace, which brought forth this 
noblest and tenderest of all the days in the year, — Memorial Day. 
There are two conclusions to be drawn from this statement. The 
first is that if modern developments in manner, methods and style 
of warfare had then been fully attained, the conflict would have 
ended in the three months for which enlistment was originally 
made, through the fighting of two or three decisive battles, and 
as a consequence the participants would have numbered but a 
small percentage of those actually engaged, and the most of the 
men who composed that wonderful organization of the Grand 
Army, would not have possessed the initial qualification, that of 
having served their country. The other conclusion is that nearly 
all combatants, should the war have continued any great length 
of time, would have been destroyed, and there would have been 
too few survivors to have produced an organization destined to 
cast such a wondrous influence over our land. 

Someone wrote : 

121 



"This old world we're a-livin' in 
Is mighty hard to beat ; 
We get a thorn with every rose, 
But ain't the roses sweet? 

And this brings home the thought that with the thorn of war and 
consequent death came this fragrant rose which shall bloom each 
recurring springtime, and shed its odorous fragrance over the 
-hearts of the living, and lend its colors of light and shade and 
its balmy incense to the resting places of their soldier dead. 

The bitterness, the cruel heart-wrenchings, the maimings, the 
hospital sicknesses, have slowly receded into the dim vista of the 
past until almost forgotten, and while they have been receding the 
little flower of sacred remembrance has grown and spread until 
its leaves are on every hillside, its branches in every valley, 
its roots in every field and its blossoms in the hearts of all the 
living and strewn above all the graves of the departed. As the 
years advance, this day of remembrance grows more and more 
sacred to the American people. 

We do not particularize, we do not individualize. This rev- 
erence and affection which we today share and show is not selfish- 
ly for our own kin, but for all the soldier dead, whether they 
were killed upon the battlefield, died of wounds or sickness, or 
survived to the allotted years of man. Fortune denied me the 
privilege of being a veteran by setting my birth date at too late 
a period, and then again my father's was set too early to permit 
the chance to be the son of a veteran. But yet I had an uncle who 
wore the blue for the greater part of four years, who carried bat- 
tle scars to his grave a few years since, and who knew by sad ex- 
perience what the prison-pens of the slave States meant. And it 
is a pleasant thought and a sweet inspiration to know that even 
though I am absent from home, assisting others in the same mis- 
sion, his comrades will see that a new flag and a new wreath dec- 
orate the grave of my soldier dead. 

Ah ! My friends those fifty years do not seem to have been a 
long time passing, but the first four years to the loving and ex- 
pectant woman at home, anxiously awaiting news from every 
battlefield, must each one have seemed like a century. Now we 
jumble in one sentence mention of Sumter, Bull Run, Antietam, 
Chickahominy, Seven Pines, Malvern Hill, Fredericksburg, Get- 
tysburg, Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Charleston and Appomatox, 
and give forth the impression that they were but matters of 
sequence closely following each other. What hopes rose and fell 
in the varying gaps between those periods ! And what other en- 

122 



gagements, some even of greater importance than many men- 
tioned, were fought between the contending armies of our com- 
mon country. O ! The long and weary hours of doubtful wait- 
ing ! O ! The mother's sobs and wails over her fallen son ! O ! 
The tears and anguish of the bereft widow and orphaned 
children ! O ! The saddened faces of grieving sisters and the 
burdened hearts of the brave women and girls who were await- 
ing happiness with the return of a soldier, alas, who came home 
in a coffin ! But the grief of these who had a body to claim was 
as nothing when compared with that of those who were denied 
such an opportunity. And the records of the national cemeteries 
show that there are 385,000 Union soldiers buried upon those 
battlefields, men whose bodies could not be identified or f gr which 
no claim was ever made by relatives. Think of it, my friends, 
that vast army of unclaimed and unknown dead, were enough to 
make the nucleus of a mighty nation. 

The stupendousness of the statistics of that great war must 
always appal the thinking man or woman. Almost three million 
men wore the Union blue, and seventy-five per cent, of them were 
only standing in the gateway of manhood, were but twenty-one 
years of age or under, while thirty per cent, were mere boys of 
eighteen or less. What blood and treasure it cost can never be 
figured. And to its few survivors today let us humbly uncover 
in the same spirit that we pay homage to their fallen comrades. 
Their hairs are all of one color now, no matter what may have 
been the difiference shown in the sixties. And how few of them 
can step off to the beat of the drum, and keep pace with the line. 
Their officers made handsome mounts only a few years back, but 
most of them cut but sorry figures on horseback today. No mat- 
ter how leniently Old Father Time has dealt with the strongest 
and healthiest of them, God bless them, we can hardly class any 
of them with the boys in this first year of the second decade of 
the twentieth century. And as the shadows fall at eventide, when 
the day's battle has been fought, — for with most of them for 
long years it has been a daily battle, — the peace fulness of hope 
and contentment settles with the twilight in the breasts of these 
gray and grizzled veterans, and each one calmly murmurs to him- 
self, with a joy that lights up his countenance and permeates his 
entire being, "One day nearer home." And so in corps, divisions, 
brigades and regiments, our loyal defenders have passed to their 
heavenly reward, and the survivors are passing now, but the ranks 
have dwindled to battalions, companies and platoons. It means 
that only a few years hence the yearly casualties can be num- 
bered in sections, squads and finally files. 

123 



And what of us, shall we permit this glorious custom to vanish 
and depart? Never! It is something to be thankful for that a 
number of the fraternities and civic organizations have loaned a 
hand to the old soldiers to keep up the spirit of the day. Our 
hands must take up the work of the veterans, which they have 
so steadfastly performed for forty-three years past, and may it 
ever be performed with the same earnestness, loyalty and devotion 
which have marked and crowned their loving efforts. 

With the fraternities, the custom of memorializing their de- 
parted brethren has come to mean a vast deal, and many of them 
are slowly gravitating toward an uniform date. Two of the 
great fraternities represented here today, the Independent Order 
of Odd Fellows and the Knights of Pythias, in each of which I 
can lay humble claim to membership for a space of more than 
twenty years, have for a long time held their memorial exercises 
almost within hailing distance of the soldiers' Memorial Day. 
And now you of Fort Plain have cut out the few days that 
stretched between and joined loving hands with the military fra- 
■ternities and their auxiliaries and united in these tender, im- 
pressive ceremonies, thus providing that one touch of nature 
which shall make kin of the whole world. My friends, I wish 
that all over this beloved land this custom of union service which 
you have inaugurated would be followed, and that all the people 
could become imbued with the spirit so that the day would not 
be desecrated by any of the so-called sports which mar its beauty 
and detract from the soul peace that it brings as balm to so many 
wounded hearts. 

When we look about us today and see the magnificent, work 
that the fraternities have done for humanity, for the common 
weal, for the general uplift, it is hard to realize that a.- few years 
previous to the war most of them were unknown, and those then 
in existence had to contend against calumny, to encounter the 
veiled sneers of suspicion and to batter down the walls of pre- 
judice in order to secure even decent treatment in the ordinary 
community. Fraternalism is every day demonstrating that it is 
one of the most powerful agencies for good the world over. And 
the fruit of this is proven by the establishment of new .fraterni- 
ties in fields once deemed barren of the proper nourishment for 
their growth and along lines where once it would have been con- 
sidered sheer lunacy to predict the possibility of their establish- 
ment. 

And why is this? Because in the advanced enlightment of the 
age Reason is more apt to hold sway than Prejudice. The hearts 
of men, who are not too strongly commercialized, are opening to 

124 



each other. Those who a quarter of a century ago denounced 
Ingersoll as a radical enemy of mankind, are now classing him ^ 
as rather a conservative and are beginning to appreciate the 
beauty and the wonderful qualities possessed by some of his utter- 
ances. Those who would not tolerate Beecher living, have many 
times wept over his eloquent passages in cold type, long years 
after his burial. 

I am one of those who believe that Fraternalism and especially 
Pythian Knighthood has done much to bring about the radical 
change that has been undergone in our ways of looking at knd 
treating each other. Brought into being as it was at the close of 
the Civil War, it had no sundered ties to be reunited, as was the 
case with the older fraternities. Its mission was one of peace,, 
and to teach man to be unselfish. This has been the doctrine of 
all the fraternities from time immemorial, and the friendship of' 
Damon and PytHias was no greater than that of David and 
Jonathan, but yet the tale which comes to us from the pagan lore 
of the Greeks impresses the more plainly how unselfish a real 
man through whose veins there courses red blood can be in his 
devotion to a friend. And then again sometimes pride has a little 
to do with this belief, for the founder of Pythianism was a native 
of this beautiful Mohawk Valley of ours, where it has been truth-' 
fully said that the grass grows the greenest of all the places in 
the world. 

In my own city only a few weeks ago there was given an ex- 
ample of how broad and unselfish a fraternity can be in its efforts 
in behalf of the general good. It may be betraying confidences 
to tell the entire story, but I believe it is best for humanity that 
this truth should be known and spread. To one who possesses a 
friendly feeling for both, yet who can hardly be said to have much 
more than a nodding acquaintance with either, the queer antagon- 
isms which at times and in localities have cropped out between 
the oldest fraternity and the oldest branch of the Christian church' 
seem mighty strange, in view of the fact that the stronghold of,; 
each lies in its ritualism. I am going to tell of how easily the 
supposed antagonisms and animadversions of men can be swept' 
away. The fraternity has a home with us, and there are quarters' 
for its orphans. Something was needed for those children's' 
wants, and that something was a large fund. They were taken 
down to a session of the central body to impress their needs. ' 
Upon the streets of New York a State legislator, whose name! 
is a household word and whose church connections possibly serve 
to keep him out of the fraternity, saw the little tots. He has a 
business partner who is a member of that fraternity, and asked'' 

125 



of him concerning the children and the object of their visit. Upon 
hearing the truth, this non-fraternal prince of good fellows, went 
down into his pocket and handed over to the fraternal partner 
one hundred dollars as the nucleus of a fund and advised a sub- 
scription campaign to procure the needful. The partner told the 
story truthfully and in unvarnished fashion in that day's session 
and before its close $17,500 had been raised among the brethren 
for the orphans under their care. 

A few months passed. An orphan asylum in Utica connected 
with the church needed financial assistance. The superintendent 
of the fraternal home, big-hearted, brave and manly, in remem- 
brance of that first hundred dollars subscribed to carry out his 
desires to 'help his orphans, jumped into the fray, arranged a 
benefit performance, loaned his orphans and produced artists to 
make it a success, and as a result of his untiring labors more than 
five thousand dollars was turned into the treasury of St. John's 
Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum by William J. Wiley, Superin- 
tendent of the New York State Masonic Home. With such deeds 
as this to its credit, fraterjiity today needs no defenders in com- 
munities where reason, intelligence and civilization hold sway. 
And when all else shall have been forgotten about them, there 
will be kindly remembrances in the hearts of some yet unborn for 
these two splendid deeds and generous impulses upon the part of 
Superintendent Wiley and Senator Timothy D. Sullivan. 

Marc Cook in that splendid burst of pathos penned while the 
Brooklyn theatre ruins were still smoking, gave birth to this 
sentiment : 

"Tears for the living not less than the dead, 
The living who refuse to be comforted. 
Theirs the agony, bitter and brief; 
Ours the heartache and lingering grief." 

It is not our purpose this day to shed tears for either living or 
dead. We are strewing flowers. Why then not strew them along 
the pathway of the living, as well as over the graves of the dead? 
Kind words, friendly acts, generous deeds, such as these I have 
mentioned serve to bring forth from unsounded depths the true 
nobility of soul which, according to Lowell, is inherent in hu-, 
manity, "sleeping but never dead." 

Let us then resolve to strew flowers along the pathway of our 
living friends, to strive to lift their burdens, to make humanity 
better and brighter because we have lived. That is the creed of 
every fraternity. It is the true religion of the human heart, and 
only needs fostering care and encouragement from time to time 
to aid in the development of man to the highest type of perfection. 

126 



There is not one among us but who can remember some poor 
unfortunate who drifted away that might have been saved by a 
kindly word or an outstretched helping hand. We have all known 
of those who died yearning for a little human sympathy which the 
cold world ungraciously refused. And sometimes from the ranks 
of those who were spurned and disdained have sprung the grand- 
est types of human heroism. You ask examples? Two will 
suffice, and they are names which will forever remain enshrined 
in the heart not alone of America, but of all humanity, — the two 
names which must always stand forth when the Civil War is 
under discussion, — the names of Lincoln and Grant. The great' 
Lincoln, in his childhood days, saw and felt the sneers and jeers 
of those who disdained his family and his humble origin, and, 
lived to be the head of the Nation in the most momentous period 
of its whole existence. The wonderful Grant, once out of the 
army under a cloud, shunned by his former associates, given the 
opportunity to demonstrate what lay within him by war's kaleido- 
scopic changes, in a few years back at the head of that army, then 
increased more than an hundred fold. Opportunity opened its 
pathway to them, talent did the rest, aided by the inscrutable 
workings of that "Divinity which shapes our ends, rough hew 
them as we may." 

From the sacred observance of today, and the kindly remem- 
brance we cherish of our soldier heroes, our fraternal friends and 
our departed kindred, may there spring forth in the hearts of all 
the people better and kindlier thoughts of fheir fellow-men; a 
greater desire to clothe the naked and feed the hungry ; a wish to 
make mankind brighter, better, holier, happier ; the inspiration to 
destroy the evil influences menacing the land in high places; and 
the strength and power to forever eradicate and abolish injustice, 
wrong, oppression, and the kindred evils which militate against 
the compion good and the equal rights of all mankind. 




127 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

Delivered Before the Trenton Vallonia Historical 
Society, Holland Patent, N. Y., February 7, 1911. 

The French Revolution was not the creation of an hour, — it 
was not a mad, sudden impulse, which spread contagion from one 
diseased brain to another, finally to engulf an entire populace. 
No one can definitely place his hand upon the hour, day or year, 
and say "Here began the Revolution." 

Late in tlie year 1753, (some months before the birth of the 
unfortunate Louis XVI,) Lord Chesterfield had penned and 
posted in Paris that prophetic letter which wound up with, 'Tn 
♦short, all the symptoms I have ever met with in History, previous 
to great Changes and Revolutions in Government, now exist and 
daily increase in France." 

The revolt against Feudalism was several centuries old; here 
and there temporarily crushed out, now and then apparently 
smothered, only to reappear and flourish in another spot. It was 
the ever born and reborn cry of the Proletariat against the hands 
of power, of the oppressed against the oppressor, of the blind 
and submerged groping painfully or battling bravely for sight 
and for land. It is the cry today present in every land and clime 
of this earth for a real Democracy, where all shall stand equal, 
a!nd where special privileges shall remain unknown. Let its vary- 
ing types be what they will, let its demands and utterances differ 
as radically as they may, call it insurgency, progressivism, radical- 
ism, socialism, any name you like, in the end it means the same, 
it is the struggle for universal freedom, the effort for the destruc- 
tion of all class distinction, and slowly and surely is mankind 
working toward that destination. The descendants of convicts 
and political prisoners in far-off New Zealand, without a strug- 
gle, without bloodshed, have brought forth the governmental 
Utopia so often dreamed of, so long desired, but without the 
landmarks and mileposts along the route furnished by the Ameri- 
can Revolution, the French Revolution, the German days of '48 
and the march of the Marsala Thousand, it is to be doubted if the 
success could have been accomplished so bloodlessly. 

The causes to which can most plainly be ascribed the bloody 
days in France, stretching from 1789 to 1795, were the exactions 
of the clergy and the oppressions of the nobility. And these ex- 
actions and oppressions were not of one day nor even of one 
generation. It was the old, old story, written on every page of 
history, the story of the weak and meek and humble and lowly, 
the real followers of their Master's Creed, ground to the earth, 

128 



beaten, flogged, murdered, without compassion, by those now- 
setting themselves up to be the highest type of that Christianity 
founded by the same Master. 

Of them, Thomas Carlyle, in his great work upon this subject, 
wrote : 

"With the flock, as is inevitable, it fares ill, and even worse. 
They are not tended, they are only regularly shorn. They are 
sent for to do statute-labor, to pay statute^taxes, to fatten battle- 
fields (named 'beds of honor') with their bodies, in quarrels which 
are not theirs ; their hand and toil is in every possession of man ; 
but for themselves they have little or no possession. Untaught, 
uncomforted, unfed; to pine stagnantly in thick obscuration, in 
squalid destitution and obstruction — ^this is the lot of the millions." 

That revolution was bound to burst forth in all its fierceness 
at some point. The cry for universal freedom had grown so 
great that somewhere it must have vent, and the outlet was found 
in Paris, where the cries of the famished poor for bread, while 
their oppressors revelled in luxuries and debaucheries, furnished 
the wind which fanned the first leaping flame into an illumination 
that startled all mankind and struck terror to the stoutest hearts. 

The diffusion of knowledge which followed the invention of the 
art of printing, the revival of the process of thinking for one's 
self, which came in the wake of the Reformation, the consequent 
spreading of intelligence and reason among the downtrodden and 
oppressed, seemed to have made greater headway in France than 
in the balance of Continental Europe. The writers of the time 
of Louis XV, while they seem to have become the pampered and 
petted friends of royalty and nobility, nevertheless proved them- 
selves at heart to be the champions of the people's rights. Look- 
ing backward from this distance it is generally conceded that 
the two personages who really did the most to bring upon France 
the deluge of blood which marked the days of '93 and '94, were 
Francois Marie Arouet, known to fame as Voltaire, and Jean 
Jacques Rousseau, who was satisfied with his birth-name, but 
cared not to transmit it to his offspring. 

Guizot wrote concerning the nation at the date of the death 
of Louis XV: 

"Henceforth France was marching towards the unknown, 
tossed about as she was by divers movements, which were mostly 
hostile to the old state of things, blindly and confusedly as yet, 
but, under the direction of masters as inexperienced as they were 
daring, full of frequently noble though nearly always reckless and 

129 



extravagant hopes, all founded on a thorough reconstruction of 
the bases of society and of its ancient props." 

The blindness, the confusion, the reckless and extravagant 
hopes had been implanted in Frenchmen's breasts by the literary 
noblesse. The literature of the time of the Fourteenth Louis has 
long since been stamped" by the world as of classic mold. Even 
before the great writers of that era had ceased to exist, they saw 
their places seized upon by a new generation who dared to go 
way beyond the boundaries of the past in their thought, their ex- 
pression and their hope for betterments. And these in turn were 
supplanted by the generation which acknowledged the supremacy 
of Voltaire and Rousseau. Inseparably as the world links their 
names, the two were for the most part at virulent odds with each 
other. In nature, sympathies, style, the men were direct anti- 
theses. Today we speak of their works as being along similar 
lines, because free thought and antipathy to the prevailing re- 
ligious sentiment of the day crops out from each, but there existed 
about the only similarity to be found between them. 

Hardly had the ill-fafed Louis XVI assumed the reins of mon- 
archy and restored the old Parliaments abolished by his grand- 
father, before cries for cheaper bread burst forth from the poor, 
followed by riots, and historical proofs are not wanting that some 
of the rioters or at least their leaders were hired thugs with well 
filled pockets, evidently egged on by those in the house of royalty 
who might profit by the downfall of the young King. Then 
(1775) came the revolt of the American colonies, and for a 
while France, endeavoring to weaken and destroy her ancient 
foe, England, forgot her own troubles long enough to lend aid to 
and cast her lot with America. La Fayette, Rochambeau, D'Es- 
taing, and the soldiers and sailors under their command, number- 
ing several thousand, fought Freedom's battles, commingled with 
the patriots in camp and on the water, united in shedding their 
blood for the same cause in the new land. With the return of 
the survivors to France and the dissemination of the tales of 
their experience came a new idea of what Freedom meant, and 
the word citizen soon came into vogue. 

" The contest between monarch and legislative body as to the ex- 
tent of the powers of the other waged, with pendulum-like tem- 
porary advantages but no definite result. Beds of justice, royal 
sessions, assembly of notables took place, but their settlements 
really settled nothing. Each day the tide of dissatisfaction 
flowed still higher. Ministers of state, favorites, courtiers, rose 
and fell with unceasing regularity. Finally in the latter part of 
1787 it was decreed that a States-General as of old should be 

130 



convened. And in its formation came the first revolution. A^ 
membership of 1,200 was called for, and of this 600 or more were 
to be chosen as the representatives of the "Third Estate," that 
is, the common people, as distinguished from the clergy and no- 
bility, who constituted the other two orders, and who had pre- 
viously given but scant recognition to those who were now to 
meet them upon more than terms of equality. The methods pre- 
scribed for the selection of the members of this body were so 
cumbersome and full of delays that it was not brought together 
until May, 1789. The King timidly failed to "verify their pow- 
ers," leaving the body to organize when and howsoever it would, 
when summoned to meet at the palace of Versailles. Monsieur 
Necker, the King's chief councillor, in making arrangements for 
their use and occupation of the Assembly building had provided 
a room where could gather the clergy, and another for the no- 
bility. The commons had been forgotten. Immediately they 
gathered in the throne-room or general assembly hall and took 
possession. The other orders were invited to come in and co- 
operate, but held aloof. Soon some of the minor clericals whose 
hearts were really with the people deserted their colors and pre- 
sented their credentials for verification to the Third Estate, which 
had already organized and declared itself in session. But a step 
was required to change the name, scope and character of the 
gatherings, and then by its own act and the support of public 
opinion, the "National Assembly" blossomed forth from the 
States-General as the real ruling power of the Kingdom. 

Soon the clergy as a body were ready to consent to a common 
verification of credentials, but still demanded the right of sepa- 
rate session. Next came the luckless order (and the presence of 
soldiers,) which closed the meeting hall to the members. To the 
tennis-court they flocked and here in reality the proposed National 
Assembly became a living actuality. Here was taken the oath 
never to separate until the Constitution of the Kingdom was 
placed upon a solid basis, and here was first heard the shout of 
"On to Paris." 

And then came the g-athering in the Church of St. Louis 
where the King delivered that speech so full of folly, which was 
in reality to create an impassable gulf between him and the 
people. At the close of its deliverance out marched royalty, 
followed by nobility and the clerical hierarchy, but silent, stolid, 
in their seats, remained the Third Estate and their supporters 
among the lower ranks of the clerics. 

Back to them came the Grand Master of Ceremonies to dis- 
perse them as of old by a single royal command. From the pews 

131 



of the Third Estate came the voice of Mirabeau, once the scion of 
nobility, since disowned by his blood, now much beloved of the 
common people: 

"Go tell those who sent you that we are here by the will of the 
people, and we will not depart unless driven out by bayonets." 

Opportunities for similar display were given this brainy man of 
early vicissitudes, and it was not long before he was the real head 
of the Assembly. 

When the entire body of the clergy had come down to the level 
of the Commons, and submitted to credential verification, a hand- 
ful of noblemen followed them. Then followed the Duke of Or- 
leans, of the blood of royalty, with forty-five followers. At last 
under the supplication of Louis, the balance of the nobles sur- 
rendered. 

Versailles and Paris were under the guard of 30,000 troops, 
many of them in foreign regiments. It was demanded that they 
be sent back to the provinces. Necker, who had on several oc- 
casions saved the tottering monarchy, who had more than once 
pledged and quite recently impaired his private fortune, was dis- 
missed without ceremony and ordered to quit France at once. 

Riots and disorders in Paris followed. The second day brought 
the cry, "To the Bastille !" The Invalides was stormed and 
30,000 guns seized, theji came an attack upon the Hotel de Ville, 
and next a cannon shot landed among the rioters from the de- 
fenders of the Bastille. "Hell had broken loose." Soldiers 
mingled with the mob and joined in the work of destruction. 
With the surrender of the prison, known and hated throughout 
all Europe as a symbol of despotism, went a promise of the 
officers leading that rabble that the defenders of the Bastille 
would be safe. But the tigers were thirsting for blood, and those 
who attempted to stand between them and their prey must suffer 
too. Death for the commandant, a pike for his head. A similar 
fate for the Mayor of Paris. This 14th of July, 1789, still famous 
in history, was the advance lightning flash of that storm which 
should go down through all the ages under the name "The Reign 
of Terror." 

Again was Necker recalled. A demand came from the popu- 
lace that the king should come to Paris. And with his coming, 
they met him with cheers. The excesses of the mob died down 
for a day or two, only to break out more virulently than ever, and 
then spread throughout all the cities and provinces of the land. 

On the 4th of August, the National Assembly remaining in 

132 



session until 2 A. M. voted away serfdom, tithes, seignorial rights, 
sale of offices, exclusive rights of nobility to military preferment, 
and a dozen other things of equal importance, revolutionizing the 
laws and customs of centuries, and then by acclamation voted to 
King Louis the title of "Restorer of French Liberty." , 

Poor, weak, fickle king. Fickle, treacherous Assembly. Fickle, 
traitorous, murder-lusting populace. And so to the close of the 
days of this Constituent Assembly, as it came to be called, the 
people clamored for new laws and new rights, the Assembly after 
many bickerings enacted new statutes, the King granted new con- 
cessions. It seemed as though the force of revolution had been 
spent, and that agitation, legislation and concession would settle 
all the difficulties threatening the land. 

Malouet, Mounier, Robespierre, Petion, Barnave, Gerard, Guil- 
lotin, Bailly, Danton, Sieyes, D'Orleans, La Fayette, Lally-Tollen- 
dal, D'Espremesnil, Liancourt, La Rochefoucauld, Maury, Talley- 
rand, many of past or future glory or fame are on the rolls, but 
the one who stands head and shoulders above all the rest is 
Mirabeau. When apparently he is outnumbered, one appeal from 
his magic voice often suffices to turn the tide. While the Assem- 
bly is at its strongest hour, provision is made that none of its 
members shall become ministers. Mirabeau's enemies fear his 
growing strength with royalty. Without such an enactment, had 
Mirabeau lived and been able to have carried out to fruition the 
ideas which had germinated in his brain, there would have been 
no place for a Napoleon upon the checker-board of Europe. An- 
other and one of the final bits of legislation presented was that 
no member could be chosen to the succeeding National Conven- 
tion. If it passed, it certainly was not observed. For Mirabeau 
it was not needed, for death claimed him before the session's end. 

And without the Assembly there are grave doings. Each day 
brings new terrors, new stories of outbreak. Though the Bas- 
tille fell and the Rights of Man were voted, flour grew no more 
plentiful, bread no cheaper. Now comes the woman's mob and 
the march upon Versailles, the attack upon the palace, the slaying 
of the King's bodyguards. The National Guard under La Fay- 
ette takes possession of the palace, the tricolor cockade is in 
every hat, the mob acclaims, "The King to Paris," and to Paris 
he goes, with that howling escort. And thus the curtain falls 
upon Versailles. The Tuileries is again occupied by royalty, but 
the occupation partakes somewhat of the prison variety. 

The royal brothers and kinsmen who were not inimical to the 
ruler had lonp- since fled across the borders and were fomenting 
invasions with the aid of other emigres and royal connections 

133 



seated upon other thrones. Now comes a second emigration, and 
strange to relate in its wake, sick at heart, go some of the Com- 
mons Deputies and many of those who had been clamoring for 
reform. 

Journalism, and its color was of a deeper hue than yellow, 
seized the reins and sought to bring forth as it always does, a 
government of hysteria, by hysterics, and for the hysterical. 
Men fatten on the offal outpourings of the typographical sewers 
and Camille Desmoulins and Jean Paul Marat through their 
blackguard sheets rise to be powers in the State. 

But even the shouts of the rabble, the hysteria of the pamphlet- 
eers, could not keep alive the necessary high-tension which makes 
revolution a success. There must needs be clubs, with nightly 
meetings and continuous haranguing from those who know how 
to play upon the passions. High-sounding names at first they 
chose, but common usage soon styled each club by some shorter 
name,, which might designate its location or something less im- 
portant. And as action begets reaction so other clubs were 
formed to counteract the influences thus created. And so across 
the stage for greater or lesser intervals march the Jacobins, Cor- 
deliers, Feuillants, Royalists, and others of greater or lesser note. 

How fast the events of importance pile upon each other. Mira- 
beau dies, and strange to say with him dies monarchy's hope,— 
the royal family carries out its illy-planned and poorly executed 
flight, the discovery at Varennes, the blockade of further passage 
to the frontier through Drouet and Guillaume, and then the con- 
sent of weak, docile Louis to return, surrounded by that ten 
thousand which shall swell to nearly ten times that number ere 
Paris be reached. And then the palace of the Tuileries in reality 
becomes a prison, for there is someone on watch at every door, 
and all must be left ajar. Soon came the uprisings from the 
Faubourgs St. Antoine and Marceau, the march upon the Assem- 
bly Hall, the mob forcing its way into the Tuileries, Louis bullied, 
threatened, compelled to don the red cap, even called traitor by 
some of the rabble. And brewer Santerre, soon to earn the title of 
butcher for his bloody work upon humanity, proudly headed all 
that strange host in its march. 

Again they come, and this time their mission is death and 
destruction. The Assembly brings the royal family into the 
Legislative hall for safety, the mob destroys the Tuileries. That 
day the monarch is deposed, that night the cells of the Feuillants 
furnish scanty beds for the family of royalty. La Fayette, with 
the American thought of Freedom ever uppermost, because his 

134 



conduct toward royalty lacked evidences of brutality, lost- favor 
with Revolution leaders and was deposed from the head of the 
Army. He left French soil, to be made a prisoner by the Aus- 
trians, Marie Antoinette's people, and brutally treated and long 
imprisoned. Devoted to duty and the people, royalty's curses 
were for him; kind and conscientious in his treatment of the 
royal family, he lost caste with the Sans-culottes, and like all 
conscientious men in momentous crises, fell between two fires. 

After the return from Varennes, Barnave had succeeded the 
dead Mirabeau as republican adviser to royalty.- His three 
friends, the brothers Lameth and Duport shared in his temporary 
glory, and when at the deposition of the King, Danton became 
the ruling power, all four became prisoners, lay a year or more 
in forgotten cells and then paid the penalty which Revolution 
demanded of its servitors who ever dared to turn back or grow 
weary of crime, rapine and blood. 

The army of the allies under the Duke of Brunswick hgid in- 
vaded France. The "law of suspects" had been passed, and it 
was easy to throw any royalist sympathizer into prison. Soon 
the prisons were filled. Mob law prevailed, the Assembly was 
in the hands of the few who lusted for power, Paris was under 
the sway of the Commune, whose leaders have often been called 
Anarchists. The elections to the new National Convention were 
set for September 2, 1792. That day Anarchy broke loose in 
Paris. The mob moved on all the places where royalist sym- 
pathizers were imprisoned, organized moot Courts to try those 
whom they did not kill before trial, and struck down and assassi- 
nated those whom their own anarchistic "courts" permitted to go 
free. 

it was just after news of these crimes had reached the army 
of invasion as well as the soldiers of France that the battle of 
Valmy was fought. Many historians and French writers pass 
this by without mention, but Creasy gives it as one of the fifteen 
most decisive battles of the world. It certainly would have 
changed the destiny of France and would have prevented many 
future changes in the map of Europe, had the Duke of Bruns- 
wick and his allied forces been successful over the troops of 
France under Dumouriez. There really was nothing to keep the 
allies from reaching Paris had the French Army been defeated 
and dispersed. And undoubtedly Dumouriez himself many 
times in exile regretted his success on this field and that of Jes- 
mappes. 

The new convention was formed and its tritimphant masters 
were soon found to be Robespierre, Danton and Marat. The 

135 



Republic was proclaimed. Then came denunciations of the King 
and demands for his death. One of the members of the conven- 
tion was the English-born Tom Paine, who had aided America 
greatly in her struggle for liberty and then came to France to do 
likewise. He believed in banishment for royalty. But fate and 
the rabid revolutionists had already decreed otherwise. The 
farce of a trial was hurriedly rushed through, the King was con- 
victed in reality of having used self-defense. 

Robespierre, who in his earlier days, had resigned a magis- 
tracy rather than condemn a criminal to death, now was busy in 
demanding the death of the monarch, and daily soon was to make 
up his lists of victims for the guillotine. The "appeal to the peo- 
ple" was rejected, delay was refused, and "death" demanded by 
the revolutionists was voted by a majority. Philippe Egalite, 
whilom Due D'Orleans, voted his kinsman's death, and even the 
partisans of Robespierre murmured their disapproval of such a 
course. Within three days after that vote had been taken, the 
right of appeal to the people having been denied the victim, and 
all who would assist his cause being declared traitors, Louis was 
put to death, January 21, 1793. 

It was not long until Dumouriez had abandoned his army and 
crossed over to the enemy's country. Then followed the denun- 
ciation of the Girondins, the session of the convention dominated 
by the soldiery under General Henriot, which was repulsive even 
to the majority of the followers of Marat and Robespierre. 

The 14th of July rolled around. It was four years since the 
fall of the Bastille, and on this anniversary the knife of Charlotte 
Corday went home to the heart of Jean Paul Marat, thus destroy- 
'ing one of the blots upon France, who helped to make the Revolu- 
tion a reign of terror. 

While Paris was the seething maelstrom of the Revolution, yet 
it was not there alone that murderous activity held sway. In the 
provinces revolution begot counter revolution. In Brittany, in 
the Vendee, at Avignon and elsewhere, there were scenes of 
carnage, bloody butcheries, and innumerable guillotinings. These 
served for some of the scum of society to gain a prominence 
which later would be useful at the capital. 

Autumn came and with it the revolutionary tribunal which tried 
and condemned Marie Antoinette. A few hours only between 
sentence and execution, a common cart to carry her to the fateful 
place and every last request denied. Brutality had reached its 
highest plane in the affairs of this new "republic." And this blot 
will never erase. 

136 



Next it was the turn of the Girondins. No hope and no appeal. 
Even the suicide Valaze had to be beheaded with the rest. Verg- 
niaud, their leader, said, "I was right in saying that the Revolu- 
tion, like Saturn, devours her children." And then retributive 
justice took one turn and Philippe of Orleans drew a trial and 
the guillotine prize. And now the former partisans must draw 
apart and war upon each other. Herbert and Chaumette with 
others fall victims to the guillotine's insatiable greed. And then 
come Desmoulins and Danton himself. 

Robespierre had become supreme. And yet Robespierre was 
religiously inclined, and the Republic had gone Atheist by an 
overwhelming majority. The Sabbath had long since ceased. 
Every tenth day was a day of rest, the months had been renamed, 
France's calendar was at variance with all the world, and in the 
light of other variances this need not seem so strange. And this 
"worthy" man, who would restore religion, in less than seven 
weeks sent nearly 2,300 to the scaffold. In the provinces the 
crimes perpetrated in the name of justice were often more hid- 
eous than those of the metropolis. 

Wearied of it all, clearly foreseeing that it was an endless chain 
which in time would claim them all, a number of the strong men 
of the Convention agreed to make a last stand against the dic- 
tator. With Tallien at their head, they boldly denounced him in 
the session, one after another heaping up statements of his crimes. 
From "Mountain" and "Plain" alike came support, a decree was 
drawn and the late dictator and his brother and St. Just, with 
those closely associated with them, passed out as prisoners. 

The Jacobins rebel. Henriot, still claiming to be head of the 
Guard, although yesterday deposed, would save Robespierre. An 
order is given -all prison-keepers not to accept prisoners that day. 
They are freed. Back to the Jacobin Club. The convention is 
to be forced. Once more Henriot with armed men is to compel 
its deliberations. Too late. Then the last gathering and the 
pistol wound in the jaw of Robespierre, whether self-inflicted or 
done by Meda. 

Outlawed, he and his needed no farce of a trial such as had 
been accorded Louis, Hebert, Danton, Barnave and the rest. 
Mere identification was sufficient. At four o'clock of the after- 
noon 10th Thermidor,— July 28, 1794,— the guillotine's best pa- 
tron himself became its victim. Robespierre's age was then but 
thirty-four. Like Louis, most of these leaders of the Revolution 
who became its victims, failed to reach forty, Danton was but 
thirty-five, Barnave thirty-two, Camille Desmoulins thirty-four. 

137 



Mirabeau, whom the guillotine claimed not, reached forty-one, 
General Hoche died worn out at thirty, and even the great Napo- 
leon was but forty-five when his sun set forever at Waterloo. 
Truly this was an age when youth burst its bonds, leaped its 
bounds and held the world in the hollow of its hand. With the 
death of Robespierre ended the Reign of Terror, and many his- 
torians also claim this date as the real end of the Revolution. 
Few carry its exist-ence beyond the following year, 1795. After 
the latter year time is marked off into periods of varying length, 
and the periods are called : the Directory, the Consulate, the Em- 
pire, the First Restoration, the Hundred Days and so on. Bona- 
parte in his proclamation assuming power at the head of the Con- 
sulate in 1799 declared that he then destroyed the Revolution. 

To that 10th of Thermidor from the day of the opening of 
States-General in May, 1789, is but three months more than five 
years, but what years, what ruin, what loss of life, what changes 
in law, in government, in the very aspect of the people and the 
country ! Never were such pages penned before in history — may 
their like never be penned again. 

And all this while the Republic's armies have kept its foes at 
bay, scored wonderful successes, vanquished nearly every hostile 
force. Back to Paris now come its officers, knowing that no 
more will the guillotine be their ending. From the ranks, since 
the Bastille days, have arisen great generals, many of them yet 
to be marshals of France and bear the titles of a new nobility. 

The Jacobin-Robespierre-Henriot revolt had brought Barras 
forth as army leader and made him a power in the land. It took 
two more such coalitions of Jacobin representatives with out- 
pouring mobs (who would overcome the convention) before Ja- 
cobinism was crushed and its unkilled leaders banished. Then 
came the uprising of the Sections. Barras, as commandant, called 
to his aid a young Corsican soldier named Napoleon Bonaparte, 
who had recently won fame at Toulon. The Thirteenth Vende- 
miaire was to furnish him with another big upward lift, and the 
title of General at twenty-five. France had secured Corsica from 
Genoa only two years before Bonaparte's birth, after having first 
conquered the island. How strange is history, that a son of that 
conquered island should bring to France, in less than forty years 
thereafter, its greatest glory. 

The Constitution of 1793 was never enforced. Another was 
necessary in '95, each recurring two years since '89 having brought 
forth its own parchment. Two houses were decreed — the Coun- 
cil of the Ancients and the Five Hundred. These selected the 

138 



Directory of Five, and at its head stood Barras. The same old 
battles between factions, new and old, took place in legislative 
halls, but the power of the army soon rose above that of the 
legislative branch. Bonaparte was the master of Italy, and Aus- 
trian armies were continually succumbing to the valor of French 
arms, and with that valor everywhere was carried republican ideas 
and republican enthusiasm, which soon became menaces to all 
European royalty. And then the Directory must be at odds with 
its creator, the legislative bodies, and the military under Augereau 
called in, so that enough of its opponents could be ousted and 
banished, to the end that the Directory might not be overturned, 
and the passage of time still more plainly reveals the feebleness 
and instability of this Directory. Glad to produce the enchant^ 
ment lent by distance, the members of the Directory had long 
since fostered and sanctioned the Corsican's descent upon Egypt 
and the Orient, and in their breasts no feeling of sorrow would 
arise should the Pyramids continue to look down upon him and 
his followers for forty centuries of futurity. The other French 
armies fared ill in Germany, Switzerland, Austria and Italy. 
Silently, without asking leave of any one, back to Paris came 
Bonaparte, filled with the glory of Aboukir and thoughts of 
power. 

'Tis the 18th Brumaire. Presto ! The Directory vanishes ; 
once more the Constitution gets a solar-plexus blow; Barras's 
power is at an end, destroyed by the very man he had made. A 
triple consulate begins, and the man on horseback heads the ar- 
rangement. A colleague is the ex-Abbe Sieyes, one of the few 
who had successfully voyaged through the Revolution from the 
days of '89, continuously holding office, and literally kept his head 
— a rare marvel indeed. 

From this moment (November 9, 1799) and for fifteen years 
thereafter the story of France, with its ever-changing map, is 
the story of Napoleon, told by many narrators in different lengths 
and with varying feelings. No one has more forcibly described 
nor more laconically epitomized the career of this child of genius 
than that other child of genius, Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll, with 
whose Napoleonic soliloquy I am pleased to close this already 
too long address : 

"A little while ago I stood beside the grave of the old Napo- 
leon, a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a deity 
dead, and gazed upon that sarcophagus of rare and nameless 
marble, where rests at last the ashes of that restless man. As I 
leaned over the balustrade I thought of the career of the greatest 
soldier the modem world had known. 

]39 



"I saw him walking the banks of the Seine, contemplating sui- 
cide ; I saw him at Toulon ; I saw him putting down the mob in 
the streets of Paris ; I saw him at the head of the army in Italy ; 
I saw him crossing the bridge at Lodi, waving the tricolor in his 
hand; I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of 
France with the eagles of the crags; I saw him in Egypt, in the 
shadow of the Pyramids; I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm and 
at Austerlitz ; I saw him in Russia, when the infantry of the 
snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like 
winter's withered leaves; I saw him at Leipsic, in defeat and 
disaster, driven back by a million bayonets upon Paris, clutched 
at like a wild beast, banished to Elba; I saw him escape, and 
retake an Empire by the force of his genius ; I saw him upon the 
frightful field of Waterloo, where chance and fate combined to 
wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him at St. 
Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the 
sad and solemn sea. 

"I thought of the widows and orphans he had made, of the 
tears that had been shed for his glory; of the only woman who 
ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambi- 
tion. And I said that I would rather have been a French peasant 
and worn wooden shoes, I would rather have lived in a hut with 
a vine growing over the door and the grapes growing purple in 
the amorous kisses of the autumn sun — I would rather have been 
this poor man, sitting as the day died out of the sky, with my 
wife beside me knitting and my children upon my knees with 
their arms about me — I would rather have been this poor peasant 
and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust 
than to have been that imperial personation of force and murder, 
known as Napoleon the Great." 




140 



MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS. 

Hamilton, N. Y., May 30, 1912. 

The scattered remnants of the mighty conquering hosts of other 
days have again gathered to pay their tribute of love and affec- 
tion, of loyalty and devotion, to their fallen comrades. No longer 
do they march in serried columns, with glistening sword and 
gleaming bayonet flashing in the garish sunlight. The drum-beat 
is muffled, the steps are slow, the bodies bent, the lines uneven. 
But they gather not alone nor unnoticed. A nation marches with 
them to-day — the proudest nation of all the earth. The stirring 
events of the past, in which these illustrious survivors were per- 
mitted to share and participate, have forged bands and links of 
union with each upspringing generation, and all, even the school- 
children, are vieing each with the other to see that the glorious 
recollections of fifty years ago are kept green upon memory's 
page. 

When we pause to compute the hardships endured, the priva- 
tions borne, the anguish suffered, it is indeed surprising that such 
a great percentage of the soldiers who fought in the Union army 
are still alive. And this reflection once more brings home forcibly 
to the people of to-day the startling fact that the most stupendous 
war recorded in history was practically fought by boys in their 
'teens. These gray and grizzled veterans upon whom you have 
this day gazed with pride and reverence are most of them still 
upon the sunny side of seventy, and yet Appomattox has been 
fading into the distance for more than two-score and seven years, 
the semi-centennials of Fort Sumter, the first Bull Run and 
Pittsburg Landing have passed into history, and the present sum- 
mer records the half-century mark since the din of battle ceased 
upon the gory fields of Seven Pines, Fair Oaks, Malvern Hill and 
Cedar Mountain. 

Already committees are preparing for the proper celebration 
of the fiftieth anniversary of that remarkable struggle at Gettys- 
burg, where, although there was severe fighting for three days, 
the fate of the nation may be said to have hinged upon the out- 
come of a single charge. And to demonstrate the manner in 
which the forrher warring sections have become reunited, the 
Confederate Veterans are coming back to the place where the 
Confederacy became in reality a Lost Cause, to join with the 
victors in glorious celebration in July of next year. 

There was no other battle-field in that long-continued struggle 
which holds so many memories sacred to the soldiers and the 
people of York State. Every corps contained New York regi- 

141 



ments and batteries; every division save one cbuld make the 
same boast, and forty-six of the brigades there engaged had a 
greater or lesser New York contingent upon their muster-rolls. 
The nearly one hundred monuments, markers and tablets that 
have been erected upon the hills, in the valleys and along the 
slopes about Gettysburg by the survivors, by the States and those 
interested, bear the proudest testimony that our boys fought and 
fell in every quarter upon that famous battle-field — in the Peach 
Orchard, the Wheat Field and the Devil's Den, on the Round 
Tops, Cemetery Hill and Gulp's Hill, at Ziegler's Grove, Plum 
Run Valley, the Railroad Cut, and wherever else troops moved 
or found temporary lodgment. 

To no other locality in this State can Gettysburg have a greater 
significance than to you right here at Hamilton. From Madison 
and Cortland counties was recruited the 157th New York In- 
fantry. Here at Hamilton was the regiment rendezvoused. Two- 
thirds of its men never came back, and the greatest list of casual- 
ties was at Gettysburg. On one side of the State monument to 
the 157th the tablet bears this inscription: 

GETTYSBURG 

Lost Here 18 Officers and 

289 Enlisted Men, Reducing Reg't 

to 100 for Duty. 

That statement needs no comment at this day. The regiment 
which marched away from Hamilton in August, 1862, one thou- 
sand and fifty men strong, in less than eleven months had one 
hundred men left fit for duty, and of the killed, wounded, cap- 
tured and missing, one-third can be charged to this one battle- 
field. Your men and their families have reason to remember that 
fight at Gettysburg. That it was not forgotten by the survivors 
of the regiment was proven when, long before the State made 
appropriations for regimental monuments, those survivors erected 
a monument of their own. On the first day of the battle this 
regiment was on the extreme left of the Eleventh Army Corps, 
and penetrated to the point farthest north in the fighting of that 
day. Here it was that they met with the greatest losses. There, 
near the Mummasberg Road, stands the memorial of your friends 
and neighbors, as a fitting testimonial to the courage and heroism 
of their fallen comrades. 

One authority some years afterward, in reviewing the battle 
of Gettysburg, gave us this statement: 

"The Empire State, in proud fulfillment of its duty, furnished 
the most men and filled the most graves. More than one-fourth 

142 



of the Union army marched there under the flags of the State of 
New York; more than one-fourth of those who fell there followed 
those colors to their graves." 

The magnitude of this, the pivotal battle of the war, can hardly 
be realized. The embattled hosts actually engaged in the con- 
flict totaled more than one hundred and fifty thousand men; the 
killed and wounded upon both sides approximated thirty-five 
thousand, nearly evenly divided. It is such staggering statistics 
as these which bring forth and create in every land to-day advo- 
cates of a lasting universal peace. 

The world at large has credited upon the roll of undying fame 
that wondrous charge of Pickett's Virginians across the grassy 
plains at Gettysburg. But the fame and the glory were paid for 
by one of the most fearful sacrifices of human life the. historian 
has been called upon to record. Upon almost any other field, 
against almost any other foe, that charge might have proven in- 
vincible. With the passing of passion and prejudice, we of the 
North can to-day speak with glow and enthusiasm of that charge, 
and mention it side by side with those glorious attacks upon the 
stone wall at Marye's Heights and the Bloody Angle at Spottsyl- 
vania as proof of the valor which has ever permeated the breast 
of the American soldier. 

And while we bestow praise where it can truthfully be given 
to our one-time foes, must we not say more for our own gallant 
men who repulsed that well-nigh invincible charge? Will Carle- 
ton said it for us in his dedicatory poem for the monument erected 
upon the battle-field to the 120th New York Regiment of In- 
fantry : 

"O, men out there in the July glare, 

Who redden the green grass leaves ! 
This harvest field gives bloody yield. 

And dead men are the sheaves ! 
Your flags are dim in the smoke-clouds grim — 

Or gleam with a costly stain; 
At each gun's call your brothers fall 

And die with a moan of pain. 
Ah, many a grief, past all relief, 

Must e'en with victory twine; 
But you who stand in that station grand. 

For God's sake, hold the line ! 

143 



"The battle is done — the smoke-veiled sun 

Creeps low to a misty west; 
Fair Victory's crown sweeps grandly down 

On those who have fought the best. 
Once more the tide of the foeman's pride 

Is rolled, like a torrent, back; 
Rebellion's way from this very day 

Will creep on a downward track. 
Lift proud the head, O living and dead ! 

You have compassed Heaven's design! 
In every zone you shall e'er be known 

As the men who held the line!" 

That the heroes of the sixties have not been forgotten by the 
nation as a whole is made evident by the recent enactment into 
law of the bill providing for pension increases. It may be looked 
upon by some as only a matter of sentiment, but all the good 
deeds of the world are built upon sentiment. The poetic senti- 
ment which graces the arch at the entrance to the National Ceme- 
tery at Arlington, and which is quoted almost daily, was penned 
by a Confederate soldier concerning his comrades in the Mexi- 
can War, and it was a gracious sentiment and compliment to ap- 
propriate it to mark the great cemetery of the Union soldiers. 

As an American traveler who has moved in, out, about and 
through forty-four States of our Union, I ask leave here and now 
to state my personal appreciation of the beautiful monuments, 
both North and South, erected in memory of the soldiers who 
fell upon the battle-fields or died from wounds and disease con- 
tracted in the service. And it is not always the artistic beauty 
of the monument, its apparent cost, its height or its magnificence 
which impresses the observer. What then ? The inscription, the 
sentiment expressed, holds him, and its memory clings long after 
the outlines of the erected structure have faded from remem- 
brance. 

The monument to the Confederate soldiers at Tampa, Florida, 
is a modest one, well within the means of the city and its citizens. 
But this modest stone is lifted far above many of its more pre- 
tentious fellows scattered throughout the Southland by the in- 
scription chiseled thereon : 

"Not theirs the rush of maddened wrath 
That, reckless, sundered ties of blood, 
But Honor's beacon showed the path 
Where dauntless duty stood. 
144 



Through famine years they followed far 

Where her. unswervmg banners led — 
Beyond her. Glory's fame-tipped star; 

Behind her, Honor's dead. 
The years their slow procession keep, 

The banner barred with red is furled, 
But now its gray-clad soldiers sleep — 

The heroes of a world." 

One of the most magnificent monuments reared to perpetuate 
the valor of the Union soldier is to be found at Cleveland Ohio, 
and such a structure is truly worthy of the words carved upon 
one of the interior walls of its base, originally uttered by the 
gifted and talented Henry Ward Beecher : 

"The honored dead ! 

"They that die for a good cause are redeemed from death. 

"Their names are gathered and garnered. 

"Their memory is precious. Oh, tell me not that they are dead ! 
That generous host, that airy army of invisible heroes. 

"They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this nation. 

"Are they dead, that yet speak louder than we can speak, and 
a more universal language ? 

"Are they dead that yet act? 

"Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the 
people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism ? 

"Till the mountains are worn out and the rivers forget to flow, 
till the clouds are weary of replenishing springs, and the springs 
forget to gush, and the rills to sing, shall their names be kept fresh 
with reverent honors which are inscribed upon the book of na- 
tional remembrance." 

And though the monuments be of the modest single-stone type 
or massive constructions of blended art and masonry, they all 
shall crumble, molder and decay in response to the ravages of 
Time; but the expressions, the sentiments that touch the hearts 
of men and women, that find abiding places in books and human 
minds, shall forever travel down humanity's broad highway and 
bring forth tenderness, sympathy and admiration from the gen- 
erations yet to be inducted into the mysteries of life. All that 
man has done, all that man can do, always bears the same marks 
of mortality. The monuments and muniments of preceding ages 
must stand at some day as the moss-covered ruins which speak 
of a forgotten past or are needed to embellish the alms-seeking 

145 



tale of a tourist's guide. But Nature's handiwork stands out in 
bold relief, unchanging and unchangeable, save by man's inter- 
ference, through all the centuries. 

How few of us to-day can offhand name a dozen of the officers 
of the Union army, whose names only a few short years ago were 
household words. Fewer still are those who can mention the 
names of a dozen enlisted men from the vicinity of their own 
homes. And the important battle-fields of that struggle — how 
seldom are they mentioned in ordinary conversation. And it is 
not f orgetfulness upon the part of the people. The wonderful 
progress in many lines has built up distance barriers between us 
and that date. Judging from the advance along scientific and 
mechanical lines, we are distant from the War of the Rebellion 
not five decades, but five centuries. Just look at the marvels 
brought forth and made matters of common usage within that 
period of time. Without them it would seem that present-day 
life must become impossible of any success. The telegraph and 
the locomotive engine were then still young, and the Atlantic 
cable had been laid scarce a couple of years before the war. 
Since the days of Appomattox have come telephones, electric 
lights, trolley lines, automobiles, wireless' telegraphy and aerial 
navigation, and each day and year marks new changes in the de- 
velopment of every one of them. Turn in any direction you will, 
and the revolutions that have been made in methods, tools or 
instruments and procedure are so marvelous that they would 
compel our forebears of a few generations back to gasp in open- 
mouthed astonishment. But not us. We take it all in a matter- 
of-fact way, and marvel more if something new is not brought 
forth each hour. 

The surgeons and nurses of the war time were mostly of kindly 
natures and sympathetic. But when one attempts to compare 
their work with modern surgery and the Red Cross system of 
to-day he is compelled to stop and wonder that so many of the 
wounded actually survived. Nowhere have there been more rapid 
strides than in the line of medicine and surgery. New diseases 
and their proper method of treatment have been discovered, 
anaesthetics and narcotics have been multiplied, germs which 
proved elusive from time immemorial have been traced to their 
lair, antidotes for almost every toxic poison have been com- 
pounded, the X-ray, the Murphy button, Koch's lymph and a 
hundred other articles or treatments have been made or formu- 
lated which tend to lengthen life and to alleviate disease, pain 
and suffering. 

The gain is not all net, for sometimes in these matters has use 

146 



begotten abuse. The best citizen a community can have is a con- 
servative physician, who usually remains calm, cool and collected, 
who seldom overdoses, who uses desperate remedies and danger- 
ous drugs sparingly, who retains his student-love of baffling dis- 
ease and defeating death, and whose palms have not become 
sordid and itching. And to apply the contrary rule, one of a 
community's poorest assets is the holder of a diploma qualifying 
him to practice the medical profession, who stopped studying at 
graduation, who treats his patient according to the latter's whims, 
whose only thought of the outcome of each case is the coin re- 
ceived in payment for alleged services. 

What holds good of one calling or profession holds good of 
them all. Men and women, brave, noble, honest and true, are to 
be found on every hand and in every walk of life. And very often 
the world does not accord them the meed of praise to which they 
are really entitled for the success actually achieved, while too 
many times the false pretender, the bluffer, the quack, gathers in 
the glory and the shekels. 

The world is prone to judge a profession or an element of the 
people by a single specimen, which specimen is apt to fall far 
short of the ideal. Radicalism brings out erratic and neurotic 
characters in the pulpit, with the press, and on the stage. Hasty 
judgments are too often formed, and an innocent large majority 
of a class blamed for the shortcomings of the few. The notion 
that a man is supposed to set the fashion in morals, in intelligence 
or in any other line in his own community, and the actual fact 
fully demonstrated in contravention of such notion that he is 
only common clay after all, leads to wholesale condemnation of 
many innocent persons. And yet too often are members of the 
classes condemned responsible for the formation of the hasty 
judgments. The ranting, roaring pulpit occupant who, without 
any real knowledge upon the subject, denounces men of promi- 
nence or sets about reforming the shortcomings of a whole com- 
munity, so as to get himself in the limelight of publicity, is gen- 
erally a half -educated degenerate whose family mistook his call- 
ing, and his ending is often an inglorious one. But because a 
few such wolves creep into sheep's clothing it is not fair to con- 
demn unheard the great majority, who are doing their best for the 
betterment of humanity and the propitiation of Divinity. The 
world owes much to the ministrations of these physicians of the 
soul, and they should be no more judged by the standard of the 
few quacks who have crept inside their lines than should the 
physicians of the body, or than the great mass of brave, fighting 
soldiers should be judged by the handful of enlisted deserters. 

147 



There are publications which should be censored, and others 
which should be suppressed — there are venal newspapers ; but 
what a punishment we would inflict upon ourselves were all pub- 
lications to be catalogued alike and condignly consigned to ob- 
livion. The trouble with most censorship and criticism lies in 
the fact that a single viewpoint selected is the basic formation 
of human judgment, and the angle of vision used does not always 
give more than a limited horizon for inspection. 

Had the war of the Revolution proven unsuccessful, the names 
of Washington, Jefferson, Henry and other illustrious Americans 
would have been handed down to the British subjects now oc- 
cupying a more limited territory than our United States as trait- 
ors deeply dyed. The untrained eye is apt to gauge success or 
failure by outward appearance. In many instances the success 
which the world applauds is sooner or later found to be the 
rankest kind of failure, while those who have been taunted and 
jeered as derelicts have in the end found their names writ in 
luminous letters high up on the tablets devoted to the successful. 

It takes as keen a discernment to-day to discover the line of 
demarcation between success and failure, in most instances, as it 
does to distinguish between demagoguery and statesmanship. 
And in the matter of the latter distinction, the average locator 
of the imaginary line seems to be willing to concede that his 
judgment needs revision from time to time. The idols worshipped 
as gold yesterday, last week or last year, are being subjected to 
new acid tests, and the gold repeatedly is shown to be of the 
thinnest veneer. Humanity continues to be frail, and the God- 
like specimens are being furnished in no greater number than in 
preceding centuries. 

Despite humanity's frailties, it always possesses underlying 
elements of strength. One event, one occasion, arises from out 
the commonplace happenings of a year, a decade or a century, 
and mere men, who have been looked upon as commonplace or 
less, are called upon in a moment to face a stupendous crisis and 
mayhap to offer up their lives that weaker ones may be saved. 
It is then that we see that in supreme moments there are men, 
not few, but many, who can rise almost to Divine heights. The 
great Titanic disaster showed to the world the manhood, the 
chivalry, the courage, the heroism that was latent not only in the 
breast of a Straus, an Astor, a Butt, but in the breasts of hun- 
dreds of others occupying less exalted stations in life. The cas- 
ualties in that northern, ice-covered sea were greater in proportion 
than upon any of the batle-fields of the Civil War, and yet man 
is baffled when he attempts to mark the spot, and no shaft can 

148 



ever be, erected above the graves of the heroes which will tell 
passing travelers of the heroism and devotion there displayed. 
The waves of ocean shall alone sing their mournful requiem, but 
mankind will long remember and cherish their brave deeds and 
noble sacrifice, even more strongly, possibly, than had they fallen 
upon the field of battle. 

Thus we see that human heroism and human victories, be it 
the heroism of war or peace, be they victories of peace or war, 
leave lasting impressions upon the race. The repetition of deeds 
in the storied past has molded many an heroic character, and it 
will continue to mold heroic characters so long as language re- 
tains the beauty which can ever repaint in new and glowing colors 
the narratives of those brave days of old. To the survivors of 
the conflict between the States we, the American people, who to- 
day number close to one hundred millions, pledge our friendship 
and support, and to them we extend the wish of good health and 
many years in which to enjoy the same. Of their work and the 
work of their departed comrades in the four-year struggle, and the 
feeling for them existent in American hearts, no more fitting 
testimonial can be prepared or uttered than that said upon the 
field of Gettysburg at the dedication of the monument to the 
"First Long Island," or 67th New York, by the Rev. Thomas K. 
Beecher : 

"A grander monument than this, or these, not made like them 
with hands nor graven by art or man's device, is standing broad 
and high, to certify mankind that our living labored and our dead 
died not in vain. Rising from either ocean and reaching to the 
other, its base is the western continent, its uplift tops the clouds, 
salutes the morning and detains the evening sun. Its carvings 
are the work of ancient days, when by the word of God the 
waters ran down and found their place and the dry land appeared, 
a continent unveiled. Its decorations are the forests, rivers, plains 
and valleys, rejuvenated by each returning spring. Its inscrip- 
tions are the cities, villages, farms and homes of men. 

"Set thus between the oceans, the United States, thank God, 
still united, her own magnificent monument and memorial pro- 
claims and certifies the world that we have fought a good fight 
and kept our faith in those days by-gone, whose deeds we cele- 
brate." 




149 



GERMAN DAY ADDRESS. 

Utica, N. Y., August 7, 1911. 

Renan wrote, '*A great aggregation of men, of sound mind and 
warm heart, creates a moral conscience which is called a nation." 
Sometimes it was geographical boundaries, sometimes the use 
of a common tongue, and again the need of unitj^ for commercial 
and defensive purposes which created a state or kingdom. Now 
and then a single state comprised a nation; more often it has 
taken two or three nations to make one state. Races exist and 
make their mark every day upon the world's history and record 
of progress, which form neither state nor nation, in the common 
acceptance of the latter term. One of the most distinctive gov- 
ernmental entities the world has ever known is the German Em- 
pire of to-day. It is a state of the first magnitude ; it is a nation, 
magnificent, superb, sublime. And while within its borders have 
been blended many other types and races, all have been merged 
into one type, one race, one people. It is true that not all of the 
German peoples have been gathered within the domain of the 
Empire. Luxemburg, Austria, the German Cantons of Switzer- 
land, are so situated and constituted that they may never rejoin 
the main body of the race, but in many breasts hopes of that kind 
have more than once arisen. 

There have been German Empires and German Kingdoms in 
other days, but the fusing and welding together was not per- 
fectly done. And the present formation, which has been evolved 
all within the lifetime of a man as young as myself, and which 
to-day appears to be about as permanent as monarchies can be 
made, proves conclusively that a race or a nationality which clings 
to its language and refuses to lose its identity, in the parlance of 
the sporting fraternity, "can come back." 

The pride of a race, the loyalty to nationality, is probably more 
often inspired by common memories of the stirring events of a 
past period. But a German is peculiarly fortunate in that his 
pride has not to turn to the events of the past for its justification. 
The greatness of his nation to-day can inspire him with the 
feelifig of exultation which contributes so largely to patriotic 
enthusiasm. 

Imbued with a strong dislike of monarchs and monarchies, un- 
doubtedly inherited from a rebellious ancestry, many members 
of which have fought against and suffered under royalty, I hardly 
think that a residence in Germany at the present time would be 
conducive to my personal happiness or welfare. It is better to 
remain in a country where they do not imprison the quick- 

150 



tongued for le^se majeste. But yet the fact that one does not ad- 
mire a ruler or his vagaries need not in the least detract from his 
admiration for a people, who, for the benefit of their racial solid- 
arity, are willing to stand for the aforesaid ruler and overlook 
the beforementioned vagaries. Rulers are but passing incidents. 
So long as they do not seek to overturn the world in a single night 
they may be tolerated and endured. And even under a monar- 
chical form of government such as now envelops Germany, there 
may be taught and shown within her borders some of the best 
and purest theories and types of that Democracy which its advo- 
cates and devotees say sooner or later must govern 'all the peo- 
ples, races, states and nations. 

Many of you older men and women, who have spent a half 
century or thereabouts in America and have not revisited the 
scenes which your childhood knew in Fatherland, can hardly ap- 
preciate the changes that have been brought about since the uni- 
fication of Germany. Hot in soil, not in individuals, not particu- 
larly in methods. To the casual glance it may all look the same, 
but beneath that first look everything seems to be different. Many 
of those changes are subtle, almost indefinable, barely perceptible. 
Yet they exist, and exist mainly of, by and because of the rebirth 
of the nation. Some of the old boundary lines have been obliter- 
ated. It is true that kingdoms, grand duchies, duchies, princi- 
palities and free cities exist, in name at least. The old free cities 
which dominated the Hanseatic League and for four centuries 
ruled the Baltic, which built up the commerce and brought about 
to a great extent the civilization of the north — Hamburg, Bremen 
and Lubeck — bear but slight resemblance to the free cities of half 
a century ago, when Frankfort-on-the-Main still enjoyed that dis- 
tinction with them. You will hear people speak of Hesse, but the 
numerous distinctions of the past — Hesse-Saxe, Hesse-Casel, 
Hesse-Darmstadt and Hessen-Nassau — have almost faded from 
view. The hyphenations which were the abomination of many of 
the school boys and girls of another generation — Mecklenburg- 
Schwerin, Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Reuss-Greitz, Reuss-Schleitz, 
Saxe-Anhalt, Saxe-Meiningen, Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt and 
Schwarzburg-Sondershausen — very rarely stare at one from the 
geography maps of to-day. One color suffices to make the map 
where more than a score of colors was formerly necessary, and 
calm, peaceful, serene, yet vigilant and wakeful, united Germany 
stretches from the Baltic to Lake Constance and even farther 
south, and from a point some miles west of Metz, beyond the 
Rhine, to another point within a few kilometers only of the ancient 
city of Krakow, in Austrian Poland. 

151 



In the crucible where Nature, Fate, Providence or Divinity- 
fuses the varying elements to produce a nationality all these con- 
flicting states and peoples were immersed and fused, and forth 
from that crucible arose an united nation, more virile, vigorous 
and venturesome than ever before. Of course, the ancient memo- 
ries of the Hanseatic League had something to do with it; the 
confederation of the North German States, wresting Schleswig, 
Holstein and Lauenburg from Denmark, likewise played a part; 
memories of the old empire and the vigorous rulers of bygone 
days may have added their mite ; but I can never be shaken from 
the belief that the men and deeds of the year 1848 were the most 
potent factors in the reconstruction of German nationality. It 
may seem like a strange anomaly, or even a paradox, to assert that 
republican insurrection was but the precursor of renewed royalty 
of the imperial brand, but if that truth held good with reference 
to Italy and Austria, why should it not as well apply to Germany. 

It was the spread of the democratic ideas which the revolu- 
tionists of '48 in nearly all the European countries stood for and 
represented that forced the new royalty to dilute and diminish 
the old monarchical ideas of government, until but a thin veneer- 
ing remained, under which could be plainly seen the grain of the 
new wood, born in America, baptized in France and confirmed in 
Switzerland, upon which must rest the basic foundation of all 
governments — the consent of the governed. 

But whatever the '48 movement may have done throughout the 
continent of Europe and the British Isles, nothing can be more 
certain than that they, through the exiling of many of their par- 
ticipants, whether the same was self-imposed or otherwise, con- 
tributed much to the upbuilding of America. Those people, who 
could not tolerate monarchy, or whom monarchy could not toler- 
ate, were the best bone and sinew that America ever secured. 
In '46 began the strong German movement America ward, just 
one year later than the inception of the immense Irish immigra- 
tion, which for a long time alone exceeded the German in num- 
bers. In one year alone in the early '50s the record kept shows a 
quarter of a million German immigrants. In the years elapsing 
smce '46, at least five millions of German people have come to our 
shores. And they have become absorbed and assimilated, giving 
ready compliance to our laws and willing assistance to our insti- 
tutions. One of the greatest and best German colonies to be 
found in America is right here with us in Utica, and it is more 
than a source of pride that its members were one of the main 
instrumentalities in the formation of the great German-American 
Alliance, which already takes foremost rank among the organi- 
zations of the world, and which stands as the sponsor for this 

152 



day we are now celebrating. It was from the ranks of the men of 
'48 and their children and grandchildren that this local colony 
was built, and that they have made good in every direction is so 
self-evident that it needs no mention at this hour. 

Having been for many years in a position where it is easy to 
discover who are law-abiding and who are law-defying people, I 
can now, without any attempt at f ulsomeness, truthfully say that 
there never was a better, cleaner, more God-fearing and law- 
abiding people located in any community than the German citizens 
of Utica. I have been in close touch with them in organizations, 
have met and mingled with them at their fetes and feasts, have 
enjoyed their humor and their hospitality, and to me they seem 
to be an ideal people. God-fearing and law-abiding, as I have 
said, yet without ever once evincing a trait puritanical or phari- 
saical, both of which traits are too often the stock-in-trade of 
some others who pose as law-abiding. The Germans are readers, 
thinkers and reasoners, and while ordinarily slow in movement 
to action, when once aroused and rampant they form a great 
moral force which exerts no mean influence upon the community 
at large. They are good people to touch elbows with. Common 
sense is well distributed in their ranks. They love amusement 
and enjoyment along natural lines, and very seldom are they 
found traveling the pace which forced hot-house civilization has 
made a feature of modern life in so many localities. They do not 
strike the extremes of belief in rigid blue laws upon the one hand, 
or rabid licentiousness upon the other. But yet that beautiful 
sentiment from Goethe, which all of us near-Germans accept in 
good faith, as well as many of your own people, shows that they 
believe in sunshine and pleasant thoughts : 

"Wer liebt nicht Wein, Weib und Gesang, 
Er lebt ein Narr sein leben lang." 

To the younger generations I say, "Do not forget the land of 
your fathers. Keep up its language. Glory in its traditions. 
Keep in touch with its songs, its literature, its philosophy, and 
you will have built a solid foundation for good citizenship." 

Take a look at what the world owes Germany for the work of 
its people in printing, in astronomy, in explosives, in art, music, 
education, poetry, religion and philosophy. It would take me a 
far greater time than has been allotted to mention the names of 
your great men in the peaceful, literary and artistic pursuits, who 
have shed their luster upon the German Nation, and were I to 
speak of their work and works in even brief fashion, there would 
be nothing of this celebration but an Irish talkfest. What each 

153 



one of your great Germans has accomplished along the lines men- 
tioned was the result mostly of plodding industry, which is shown 
to be a German characteristic by the words of that familiar 
proverb : 

"Die Rechte Goldgrub ist der Fleiss 
Fur den, der ihn zo ueben weiss." 

For the honor of being permitted to address you this day I 
wish to return my personal thanks to you and to your officers 
and committees. As the son of a man whose belief in a '48 move- 
ment made him an exile, and by that very exiling gave the great- 
est blessing under the sun to his progeny, to wit: American citi- 
zenship, I most heartily felicitate you, children and grandchildren 
of the men of another '48 movement, upon the magnificent 
achievement of to-day. In selecting the closest date possible to 
the anniversary of the battle of Oriskany for your annual cele- 
bration you have chosen most wisely, for Oriskany battle-field 
prevented a British victory at Saratoga and saved the American 
Union. And while many other nationalities were represented, the 
great bulk of the American force was composed of Germans, and 
from among their number the commanding officer was selected. 
We cannot do too much to keep the memories of Oriskany battle- 
field and of General Nicholas Herkimer in plain view of the 
American public. Both deserve far greater recognition than has 
ever been accorded them. 

It is just a little source of personal pride to me to have worn 
rightfully this day a Continental uniform similar to that worn 
by the Revolutionary soldiers, and to have been the founder and 
first captain of the Nicholas Herkimer Continentals. Largely 
through my personal efforts that organization has generally 
turned out with you each German Day, and that gives sufficient 
personal interest to warrant my being enthusiastic in your cele- 
brations and arduous in any assistance I may be able to render. 
It is my fervent wish that your Alliance may continue to grow and 
thrive until it has secured a foothold in every hamlet of any size 
in the country, and that German Day may become a known and 
positive factor from Coast to Coast and from the Lakes to the 
Gulf. 




154 



WHY MEN STEAL. 

Delivered Before State Conference of Probation Officers 
AT Syracuse, N. Y., November 19, 1912. 

The excuses offered for theft by the perpetrators thereof are 
almost as varied as the numerous styles of offenses listed under 
that head. Neither philosophy, nor psychology, nor sociology, will 
ever be able to separate all the reasons given into classes and 
subdivisions, and prepare an analytical table which shall be an 
unerring guide to determine under what particular head or branch 
shall be placed the future offender. 

For some considerable time the intelligent nations of the world 
have been permitting themselves to be satisfied with the thought 
that the various blessings or ills which fall to the lot of the aver- 
age human entity are traceable to four sources, — heredity, en- 
vironment, condition, circumstance. "The sins of the parent shall 
be visited upon the child, even unto the third and the fourth gen- 
eration," has long been accepted as truth, and during all the years 
of its acceptance heredity has had to bear the brunt for many 
misdeeds. Next came "Evil communications corrupt good man- 
ners," thereby placing its share of the blame upon environment. 
But it is only in the days of recent greater enlightenment that 
the other two concomitants have been permitted a prominent 
place in the diagnosis of human frailty or goodness. And so it 
came that the more ancient causes which cursed the delinquents or 
blessed the fortunate yielded places at their table to other fates. 
And now the category reads : — heredity, environment, condition, 
circumstance. And these at times wend in and out upon each 
other's courses in such intricate and complicated fashion as to be 
almost indistinguishable. An unchanged environment for many 
generations produces much of that which we are wont to ascribe 
to heredity. Condition is apt to be produced by either environ- 
ment or heredity or both. And circumstance, the most variable 
of the four, is liable to owe its happening to a single one of the 
other attributes, or a juxtaposition of them all, or to owe nothing 
whatever to any of them. 

In plant and animal life we see how efforts at selection of spe- 
cies, hybridization, evolution and progression are more prone to 
failure than to success. Even where species have been selected 
for several seasons and every effort made to improve upon the 
former specimen, there will be constant recurrence of original 
types or reversion to intermediate types. If uncared for, it does 
not take the descendants of the abnormal long-tailed and long- 
finned goldfish a very great while to drift back to the common- 
place shiner. 

155 



The real solution of the present-day lack of respect of the 
property rights of others, undoubtedly is to be traced to the days 
when manVas first classed as somewhat of a rational being, and 
property rights as they now exist had not yet been evolved. The 
air, the earth and the waters were all free, and man partook of 
them and their contents at such times, in such proportions and 
under such conditions as he felt the need, with no restraining 
hand or overseeing mortal power. If the latest developments of 
science concerning the earth we inhabit and the million of years 
that it has been inhabited be true, then the space of time since 
property rights, so called, have existed, is but an infinitesimal 
portion of the period of habitation. Such being the case, is it 
any wonder that we constantly meet with the recurrence of the 
type that sees no harm in taking that which strikes the fancy or 
suits present needs or appetite? The inborn and inbred theory 
that might makes right and that there can be no wrong in gath- 
ering up what we most desire when it is in plain sight, held sway 
for a long time. Heredity transmitted it through long lines of 
descent, environment championed its cause through long periods 
of association, condition usually seemed to demand the upholding 
of the doctrine, and circumstance rendered it easy of performance. 

Throw in the way of the babe, still crawling, tawdry baubles 
or fancy objects of pleasing hue, and want and wish and contact 
lead him to seize and possess them, and struggle against their 
surrender. The child by instinct still possesses intuitively all the 
early frailties of the race. He must be weaned away from them. 
Without any thought of wrong, children will appropriate their 
playmate's toys and sweetmeats. The child needs many, many 
lessons before the rights of property, looming large in some spots 
as the Frankenstein of today's civilization, impress themselves 
upon his powers of perception. What of those to whom the 
world has denied proper tutors? Is it not rather surprising to 
find any good among them, who have been "kicked up" rather 
than brought up, when so many of those who have received 
superior advantages have failed to profit thereby? 

There has been too much threatening of people into the right 
path by producing the symptoms of fear of eternal damnation, 
and too little of salutary teaching of right and wrong where 
tutors of that sort are scarce. We have wasted too much good 
money upon foreign missions, while slums which needed it more 
were permitted to grow up and fester on every hand. To what 
a depth of degradation had the poorer classes of England been 
permitted to sink, until Hood and Dickens took up the questions 
of the sewing girl, the workhouse, the parish children, the im- 

156 



prisoned debtors and the conditions of the jails, and interwove 
them into and through the woof and warp of song and story. 
And even that revolution was not brought forth in the twinkling 
of an eye. It was a long and a hard battle before better conditions 
were reached. 

More thieves have been created by law, by government, by rul- 
ing officials and by those who secured swollen and abnormal 
holdings through devious and tortuous ways, than through all 
other sources combined. The men who successfully irrigate Erie 
valuations, loot Jhird Avenue tractions, or promote worthless 
mines, create an endless series of imitators, who in many cases 
are either not tricky enough to evade criminal responsibility or 
do not possess sufficient influence to prevent prosecution and pun- 
ishment. The conductor, the cashier, the ticket agent who has 
seen "the man higher up only getting his'n," thinks he too is en- 
titled to his piece of the loot. The many careless and even crim- 
inal proceedings upon the parts of men in "high finance," the 
collusion between large contractors and those having govern- 
mental supervision of their work, the desire of vice to pay for 
immunity from punishment and the greed of those charged with 
its suppression to share in the toll thus levied, have caused a 
partial breaking down of the barriers of conscience that civiliza- 
tion has been endeavoring to construct for a few thousand years. 

The woman whose face and figure would never tempt any man 
to ply his wiles upon her nature, is apt to look with scorn and 
haughty pride upon her sister of the street, who could not always 
resist when the tempter spoke, and through her weakness and 
man's perfidy sank low in the social scale. She who has been 
tempted, and while still recognizing her veins to contain human 
blood and not ice, has been strong enough to withstand the on- 
slaughts of mankind, gazes only with tender pity and heartfelt 
sympathy for the fallen. And so with the cold matter of fact 
man, in whose way the temptation to take that which is another's 
has never been thrown. He is the one who as prosecuting officer 
insists upon the fullest punishment being meted out to the of- 
fender, — who as Judge never permits the shadow of human sym- 
pathy to fall across a single page of the book wherein he enters 
his prison sentences. Among the best and the truest are those 
who have been tried by fire, and even sometimes singed and 
scorched. 

I have seen men sent to prisons, whose natures were of a very 
high grade and class, men who meant no wrong, who gave way 
to sudden impulse or took without wrongful intent that which 
they believed they could replace. One of the best-hearted fellows 

157 



I ever knew is today in a Federal prison for bank irregularities. 
I'here was no intent upon his part to do a real wrong. And when 
he comes forth, the greater part of those who knew him will meet 
him with a welcoming hand and seek to aid him to regain the 
place in the world he lost through an error in judgment. The 
man who has not been hungry, wandering in a strange land, can 
hardly realize the desperate straits of the man who has had that 
experience, and of the chances such an one is willing to take when 
nerved by desperation. 

Each one of you at one time or another has' had come under 
your notice, many and varied forms of stealing, and the motives 
back of those cases were even more varied. There has been the 
reputed financier in whose integrity a whole neighborhood has 
ever reposed its confidence, to whom that neighborhood has 
rushed with its savings without apparent request, until one day 
came a crash and it was found that the financier had long been 
insolvent and had been living in ease from those savings thus 
thrust upon him. He may have speculated, or he may not. Un- 
wise speculation has too often left its votary charged with one 
letter less, — peculation. Women have many times been at the 
root of the evil, — sometimes a wife who wanted more style than 
the means would allow; frequently an actress who played her 
'angel" for a fool ; now and again a siren who lured a soul to the 
depths; sometimes an innocent, honorable woman upon whom an 
infatuated one lavished flowers and presents bought with the 
shekels of another. 

Some have stolen or committed other crimes when crazed with 
drink, who in their sober senses would not have transgressed. 
There are those who have stolen large sums and hidden their 
plunder, so as to have an easy time in life after the payment of the 
penalty exacted by the law. There have been cases of self- 
sacrifice where stealing was done to make good for another, and 
there have been crimes committed almost or actually in the public 
gaze, so that the flighty perpetrator might receive the cheap no- 
toriety for daring or bravado his weak brain coveted. The sneak- 
thief, the burglar, the safe-blower, may have all started in inno- 
cently enough upon their careers, but in the end knew nothing too 
desperate. I have known of a church sexton who, after being 
suspected for some time, was found stealing marked money from 
the plate which he passed at service, — have had arraigned before 
me those who rifled of its pennies the poor box nailed to the 
church wall, and thought them quite mean and low, but the palm 
for being an outright, low down thief, I think will have to be con- 
ceded to a carpet-bagging ex-Governor of a Southern State, who 

158 



after he had helped to plunder that State of millions, which he 
and his associates spent in revelry, drifted down the line of lar- 
ceny until his specialty was purloining articles of wearing apparel 
from hotel hall racks. 

More than a few thieves have been made of honest, innocent 
country lads, whose all has been beguiled from them by sharpers, 
and who, jeered and derided, spurned and cast aside by the com- 
munity, have felt themselves to owe all humanity a grudge, and 
sought payment with manifold interest for the amount of which 
they were originally despoiled. Women carelessly carrying hand- 
bags and pocketbooks, messengers openly displaying money on 
the way to or from the banks, have on numerous occasions cre- 
ated the sudden impulse in the passer-by which led him to seize 
that which was so openly and without caution displayed. Mes- 
sengers who have been trusted for years, financial agents who 
have handled large sums of money without a wrongful thought 
for several decades, have become victims of that same sudden 
impulse; Employes of the various post office departments, after 
years of long and faithful service have fallen, and that too after 
seeing so many others detected and knowing tliat detection was 
almost absolutely sure to follow wrong doing. I once saw a post- 
master sent to prison for eighteen months, because when the in- 
spector suddenly arrived upon the scene, the actual cash was 
not in the post office cash drawer, but upon the other side of the 
street, in the shoe store conducted by the postmaster, where it 
was commingled in his business with his private funds. And then 
again come those who have contracted the use of soul-destroying 
drugs and by such use have become entirely different person- 
alities from the beings they were in early life. And "numberless 
as the sands upon the shore" are those who have fallen by reason 
of a mania for gambling. 

And the man who has once made a mistake and paid the pen- 
alty. If he be without strong friends, how fierce the battle to 
regain a foothold in society. Should he attempt to begin anew, 
those Avho know his tale or possibly have served beside him, undo 
him if he refuses to be blackmailed or to associate with them. 
Too often the relentless human sleuth-hound whose greatest pride 
lies in the number of men he has "put away," is constantly on his 
track and causes loss of occupation, veritable outlawry and even 
suicide. There have been too many Jean Val jeans in the world, 
because there were and are too many Javerts, who do not possess 
the idea of responsibility to duty, the conscience subject to re- 
morse even slightly, or the ultimate sense of fair play displayed 
by the original creation of Hugo's brain.- 

159 



No formulated set of reasons for stealing can be brought into 
play, which will govern a probation officer's treatment of the 
charges coming under his investigation or care for such offense. 
As every individual case deals with a different personality, these 
cases can hardly be governed by set and stringent rules which do 
not vary and relax. Each case calls for its own treatment. Pro- 
bation officers must make of themselves students of human na- 
ture at close range. Every individual case must be studied out 
before his birth." If one of your probationers be charged with 
without reference to chart or schedule. Long ago it was said 
that "the education of a gentleman should be begun thirty years 
a larceny as a first, or second, or even possibly a third offense, 
(where there have been no previous arraignments), look carefully 
over the facts at the moment of commission, and the incidents 
Avhich led up to the deed. Trace out the home training and the 
school training, if possible. Look back of today. See what were 
the conditions at the time of and prior to the delinquent's birth. 
Pre-natal influence has cursed many lives. Search out the habits 
of the parents in early life, without of course attracting public 
attention or the hue and cry which follow the hounds upon a 
scent. Go back even one or (wo generations if possible, and note 
carefully the legacies of heredity or the molded impressions of 
environment. Many of your cases must remain unsolved mys- 
teries. Many of them have never wavered from the line before, 
will never waver again. With others the proneness to repetition 
will be irresistible. Older and wiser heads than we have failed 
to solve these perplexing problems. Good advice, good example, 
caution against the pitfalls, a watchfulness that never abates, yet 
which never tyrannizes or oppresses, these are the weapons which 
you can best use to overcome the faults of those charged with 
an offense of this character. Remember that they are but human, 
their acts and deeds will be shaped much as those of other hu- 
mans, and you can best exercise a humanizing and reforming in- 
fluence upon them by, at all times in your dealings with them, con- 
tmuing to be human. 




]60 



ELKS' MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS. 

Buffalo^ N. Y., De;cember 3, 1911. 

Tinkle and toll. Chime and clang. The bells are singing their 
sweet refrain. It is the hour of eleven. Throb and beat. Beat 
and throb. The vibrant heart of Elkdom sends forth a respon- 
sive chord to every passing note of the sounding bells. Momen- 
tarily the head of every Elk is bowed. But one thought teems in 
each brain. The lips part, and the whispered sentence, "To Our 
Absent Brothers," is uttered in reverent tone by many voices. 
From day to day this action is repeated, and each day binds the 
participants in that scene more closely to the beautiful inspira- 
tion which draws forth from memory's golden store tender 
thoughts of the friends we have "loved long since, and lost 
: awhile." 

But this generic observance of the "golden hour of recollection" 
Avould not in itself be complete. To enlarge upon and supplement 
this daily matter of remembrance of all our brothers who have 
completed their earthly labors, one day in each year is designated 
and set apart upon which to hold a specific memorial observance 
for those who have p9,ssed away within the preceding twelve- 
month. And so today each Lodge gathers, in accordance with the 
law and custom of the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks, 
to render our tribute of love and affection to the brothers whose 
names have been most lately inscribed upon that "mystic roll- 
call of those who shall come no more." 

'Twas but a little more than two score years ago that there first 
assembled together that small band of kindred spirits whose ef- 
forts were to culminate in the formation of the mother Lodge of 
Elks, — New York, No. 1. It was rather a spirit of loneliness that 
formed their bond of union, and not a single participant then 
dreamed that he was present at the birth of what should in less 
than half a century prove to be one of the greatest of human in- 
stitutions. The few survivors of that natal hour must gaze with 
unalloyed pride and unquenchable devotion when they look upon 
the massive structure which now shelters the magnificent mem- 
bership built up from the handful of the early days, who were 
content to meet in a back bedroom in an actors' boarding-house. 

We are living in the day of great achievements and the Order 
of Elks keeps abreast of the times. America needed just such a 
fraternity, and it was born to fill that long-felt want. It en- 
croached upon the territory of no other fraternal organization, 
it engendered no rivalries, but marched along its own broad high- 
way, gathering adherents at every step. Born in the closing half 

161 



of the nineteenth century, it is of the same era and class as those 
great marvels of science which have become household necessities, 
the telephone and the electric light. To plunge backward and 
eliminate all three from the earth would be doing humanity an 
irreparable injustice. 

The Gospel of Love was preached in many tongues and taught 
in various ways centuries before the coming of the Elk, but man- 
kind awakened to its best and truest meaning when from the 
lips of the Elk first came those words of his Golden Rule, which 
shall never die: 

"The faults of our brothers we write upon the sands. 
Their virtues upon the tablets of love and memory." 

The perfect specimens of humanity have been few indeed. All 
of us are prone to faults. "Let him who is without sin among 
you cast the first stone," since its initial utterance by The Great 
Teacher, has been used as a text numberless times, in every age 
and land and clime, and yet it needs to be retold every day and 
every hour to a forgetting and forgetful humanity. That is an 
admonition to self alone, to each individual to be not unmindful 
of his own shortcomings. It preaches not love but rather caution 
and prudence, while the newer thought enunciated by the Elk 
breathes the sweet tale of charity for all mankind. 

Fraternity is today the guiding star of many lives, and those 
who are living faithfully up to their fraternal obligations are 
performing the greatest labor in behalf of the general uplift. 
The work of the fraternities along benevolent and charitable lines 
is but little known, even to the vast majority of the members. 
The great outside world rarely ever catches a glimpse of the 
splendid achievements along such lines, and we pride ourselves 
upon keeping the world in absolute ignorance thereof. And such 
action we know to be for the better. There come moments in 
the life of every sentient being when there is need of physical, 
moral or financial aid, sympathy and encouragement. And the 
weak of today become the strong of tomorrow, often repaying 
many fold, and discharging the debt not alone to the temporary 
benefactor, but to mankind at large by rendering unto others, un- 
asked, aid similar to that received in trying moments. And it is 
from the consciousness of having performed such deeds, of hav- 
ing been presented the opportunity to repay humanity an hundred 
fold for the benefaction received in time of stress, that the true 
fraternal member receives his reward. It needs no claque to pro- 
claim, no thundering applause to flatter, no words of -praise in 
print, — only the conscious knowledge of humble self-respect for 

162 



having, without ostentation, done one's estabHshed duty. And 
the sharing of such knowledge with others compels that self- 
respect to shrink and shrivel in proportion to the increase in num- 
bers of those who share in the knowledge. 

Tennyson wrote: 

"Men may rise on stepping stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

The novelist and the dramatist have used this theme times with- 
out number and always with thrilling effect. How often do we 
see the part enacted in the life about us. A careless man has said 
little things and done little acts that are open to criticism, or he 
has failed to perform some of the little niceties falling to his lot. 
The onlooker has made his passing comment, the tale has been 
repeated and distorted many times, until the gossips have built 
for this unthinking man a character of the basest, though his 
heart be true as steel. From the great fountain of inspiration, the 
great encyclopaedia of not only English but world thought, we 
glean how 

"Men that make 

Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment. 

Dare bite the best." 

And by such bites of the envious the sands become piled up 
almost to mountain height, and the ordinary waves of ocean can- 
not sweep over those sands to wash out the faults written thereon. 
The searchlights of the passing craft bring out every fault in 
luminous letters. 'Tis then in the true man that the old self dies 
to become that stepping-stone to higher things. The old spirit 
slinks away into the darkness never to return, and there in the 
"fierce white light of publicity" he dons the new raiment while 
kind Providence sends one wave mightier than all the others so 
that the inscriptions upon the sands may be obliterated. 

The man who has taken to its full this course of treatment, who 
has thus been reborn of trial, feels in his soul thereafter the 
greatest balm when listening to the singing of the beautiful words 
of John Henry Newman's "Light in Darkness." Possibly un- 
known to the envious, his life has been filled with acts of charity, 
not always the charity of word and thought, but the charity of 
deed and action. The Divine Hand guided by that wonderful 
truth, "Charity covereth a multitude of sins" has seen fit to 
radiate the reflection of the individual's charities into the eyes 
and hearts of the many, despite the malice of the few. And 
from that Charity, within the breast of him who has thus been 

163 



tried and tested, there springs "the tender bud of hope," — that 
Hope which reverently repeats, 

"The night is dark, and I am far from home — 
Lead Thou me on," — 

the Hope which slowly brings the wanderer back to the green 
fields of Faith. And so he who possessed only the saving clause 
of charity, and that charity of the common earthly sort, in time 
is brought thereby to the possession of all the cardinal graces, 
through and over the thorny roads of trial and torment. 

Many of the brothers whose names elicited no response when 
called tonight were apparently in the best of health one year ago, 
when the previous Memorial Day was observed. Some of them 
undoubtedly were interested in the preparation for this event. 
Not so long ago I was invited to address a similar gathering of 
another fraternity in the City of New York, and as there were 
many subordinate bodies interested and each was to be repre- 
sented upon the committee of arrangements, that committee was 
ajppointed six weeks or so before the event. When the time for 
printing programs came, a few days before the date set, the 
names of two of the original committeemen, one of whom was 
cast for a prominent part in the observance, had to be set in the 
memorial column. In one case death came without warning. In 
the other the illness was but of a few days' duration. And such 
may have been the fate of some of the brothers who were pre- 
paring for the proper rendition of this service which we today 
dedicate to our departed brethren. 

Pick up your morning paper and the telegraph pages each day 
deal with deaths in manifold. Here it is the story of a disaster 
in midocean, there the cave-in of a mine, yonder a railway colli- 
sion. Next day a dam has burst, carrying death and destruction 
before it, — again a trestle gives way, dropping a train-load to ai. 
watery grave. In one column there may be a frightful tale of a 
theatre holocaust, — in another the dread recital of a powder mill 
explosion. Turn then to the pages of every issue devoted to news 
of a local character, and day after day you will find, in the list 
of the dead, names of those whom you have known, and some- 
times you have met and conversed with the bearer of one of those 
names only a few short hours or days before the chronicled time 
of passing. 

To the individual resident of the crowded city who has reached 
the age of fifty years, in most instances death has become a mere 
matter-of-fact circumstance, to which only the passing attention 
of a moment is given. To the one who lives alone and who long 

164 



since severed ties of kin and friendship, refusing to be bound in 
any way by the ties of fraternity, only such ghostly visitors as 
Charles Dickens brought to the bedside of Scrooge in "A Christ- 
mas Carol," will produce an awakening to the possibilities of 
Death and the Hereafter. To those who have lived as Scrooge 
was taught by his spectral monitors to live in his remaining years, 
there need be no fear of the coming of the Last Visitor. He is 
bound to make that visit, — it cannot be evaded. The Elk is 
taught to meet death with a smile, — his fears have long since been 
calmed. Those of our brothers who have so recently responded 
to the summons from the other shore, have gone forth willingly, 
bravely, manfully. They are enjoying eternal rest in the 
Land of Peace. And we who remain behind for a short period 
have blotted from the sands where we had inscribed them all 
mention of their frailties and shortcomings, but deeply graven 
upon our tablets of love and memory are the stories of their good 
parts. And when the end comes to each of us in turn, we will 
glory in these remembrances of the past, and in the knowledge 
that those who survive shall, on the next Memorial Day, pay the 
same tribute of love and friendship to us, as we have done to 
those who left before us. And not alone are we to be remem- 
bered upon that single day, but whenever the hour of eleven is 
recorded upon the dial of Time, tender thoughts will flash across 
the loving memories of many who knew us in the days of "Auld 
Lang Syne." 



165 



THE MEN OF TO-MORROW. 

Delivered at Banquet of Ilion Board of Trade, February 

27, 1911. 

"As the twig is bent, so is the tree inclin'd.'' 
"The boy is father of the man." 
"Spare the rod and spoil the child." 

"And the sins of the parent shall be visited upon the child, even 
unto the third and the fourth generation." 

These are but samples of the many proverbs and platitudes 
Avhich have been hurled at mankind for centuries. And for a 
long time mankind listened attentively, pondered thoughtfully 
and benevolently assimilated into its everyday life the aforesaid 
proverbs and platitudes. It was then that a lesson learned in the 
curriculum of experience held lasting weight for a lifetime. It 
was then that the establishment of a record in any particular walk 
of life meant that such record would stand for a long time to 
come. 

But, alas, for proverbs, for lessons,/ for records. We are liv- 
ing in an age where records are being smashed every minute. 
What was impossible last week became probable yesterday, is 
practical today and next week will be superseded by something 
which but a few days ago seemed more stupendously impossible. 

When those two great events of the closing years of the 18th 
century, which changed maps, histories and peoples, — the Sur- 
render of Cornwallis and the Fall of the Bastille, occurred, there 
were no telegraph wires, telephones or cables to carry the an- 
nouncements of those happenings to the far corners of the earth, 
and the man or woman who would have dared to predict the 
"wireless" of today would have fallen a victim to the fury of an 
enraged mob. There were no morning or evening papers with the 
latest news from every quarter of the globe to be perused with 
one's meals. The steamboat did not become an assured fact until 
after the new century dawned, and still later came the steam en- 
gine, and the million marvels of modern machinery. The Morse 
system and the Field cable were but novelties crudely working 
when the sound of the guns at Suijiter stirred the nation one- 
half of a century ago. Men who were born since that event can 
easily remember the introduction into offices and business places 
of the two great aids of modern business, the telephone and the 
typewriter. 

166 



And through the folly of the party attacking Fort Sumter, 
with the additional folly of Napoleon the Little in his opera 
bouffe demonstration against Germany, clicked Ilion's first glory, 
the click, click of the Remington gun which made your home 
, famous wherever a body of soldiery was marshalled. And hardly 
had your guns clicked in unison to the strains of martial music 
the world over, saying in thunder tones, "Remington! Ilion!" 
before in the busy marts of trade and commerce, in the offices, 
the mills, the schools, a feebler and less perceptible click, click 
was heard, the click of the typewriter, and it seemed to repeat the 
statement of its older and louder brother, "Remington ! Ilion !" 
until all creation knew that both in peace and war Ilion held a 
place upon the map and the name of Remington deserved an in-, 
scription in the Hall of Fame. And because of these industries, 
and their call for able-bodied men at high-priced wages, which 
enable families to be properly cared for and supported, Ilion can 
proudly make its boast of being a he-town, and those who live in 
she-towns, where industries that employ able-bodied men are dis- 
couraged, and plants which only want women and children for 
long hours at barely living wages are fostered and nurtured, 
know how in their helplessness they silently envy you this real 
mark of civic greatness. 

But enough of yesterday and today. This talk is supposed to 
deal with tomorrow. The honk-honk and the trail of dust which 
marked the passage of the sixty-mile-an-hour-chauffeur of yes- 
terday and the speck in the sky which marks the flights of to- 
day's bird-man will hardly be out of sight and hearing before 
their successors will try to startle the world. I say "try" because 
the world has gotten used to startling sensations and no longer 
startles. 

The newer generation is growing old by leaps and bounds. It 
is up to you and me and all others who stand forth before the 
people in any light, however feeble, to render an account of our 
stewardship and to demonstrate that we are endeavoring to keep 
the line steady, the step in tune and the guide to the right. 

It sometimes takes years to eradicate false impressions gained 
in youth, and it is up to every one of us not to create those false 
impressions. Grocer, have you sanded your sugar, used short 
measure or palmed off something not as good upon your unsus- 
pecting customer, while your errand boy stood by? Coal dealer, 
have you weighed in the driver with your load to be delivered, 
while the new clerk looked calmly on? Lawyer, have you 
stretched the truth visibly while dictating an affidavit to your 
stenographer and in the presence of the student in your office? 

167 



Bookkeeper, have you forced a trial balance with a base-ball club 
and let the novice see your crude work? And you, the man in 
the corner store, have you sold cigarettes to boys of doubtful 
age? The list is long, the questions many, but if a single one of 
you has deviated from the path of honor, right and duty, in a 
smgle instance, and that instance has been brought to the attention 
of a youngster, in that respect have you harmed him, and no one 
knows where the endless chain of evil influence will lead to, or 
when and how it may come back to curse your own. 

Why are politicians corrupt? Because Big Business has made 
them so. And the apostles of Big Business who, by tortuous 
paths and devious methods have wrested great fortunes unearned 
from producer, wage-earner and consumer alike, without regard 
to the rights of any, and then sanctimoniously endowed colleges, 
churches, libraries and schools with their tainted money, these 
are the real blots upon civilization, the real curse to the rising 
generation, in whose breasts they generate the desire of emula- 
tion and the spirit of trampling down all humans who stand in 
their way. 

The youth of today knows that he hasn't a chance to fight and 
beat a machine unless unlimited wealth be his, and even then he 
has to watch his men to see that they stay bought. The cold- 
hearted, ill-shapen, homely- faced woman who has never been 
tempted, averts her face when the voluptuous sister, whom nature 
cursed with tenderness, love and passion, passes by. So the man 
who has never stood in the place of crucial test, rails at the hith- 
erto honest man who has allowed himself to be snared into the 
paths of corruption. The man who has never drunk the drugged 
and poisoned stuff they now label whiskey, wonders at the deeds 
of him who falls as its victim. 

It seems as though with the marvelous changes going on about 
us that our very natures must be changing. Not long ago we all 
took stock in the Biblical tale which figured out this earth to be 
in the vicinity of six thousand years of age. Now the very bugs 
picked from the limestone in Trenton gorge, just up above us in 
the West Canada Creek, and the stone itself, prove to scientists 
that stone and bug alike have been on the job for more than ten 
times that number of years. The alphabet, the basic stone of 
modern education, undergoes changes with the rest. The initial 
G we long ago looked upon as typifying God, goodness, grandeur 
and greatness; today it is more often heard of as the symbol of 
gain, grab, graft and greed. The next letter indicated the holy 
hearth of happy home, with hope of a halo in heaven. Now it too 
often helps to hurl its harassed hordes into the hell of heart-break. 

168 



Everything is moving swiftly and the youth of both sexes too 
readily grasp the accelerated paces. In the last three years the 
population of the insane hospitals doubled. It took ten years 
before that to double it, and the previous doubling occurred after 
a space of thirty years. And the greatest cause of all is the 
rapid pace. But all of the victims are not of the first instance, 
for the curse of heredity, of the rapid pace and the excesses of 
previous generations, has been collecting the toll long overdue. 
It is a time for men to think and act. Look at one-half of the 
lads who slouch along our streets without a spark of manhood 
in their stride. The deadly cigarette is getting in its fatal work 
there. And every whiff of the poison creates the same desire and' 
craving for more which marks the use of what are known as the' 
deadly drugs. Step into the "pool-parlor." There are the lads' 
who are old enough to escape the truant officer, but they don't' 
seem to find work. And when they don't work, very often they 
steal to get the money to play pool. They come under my ob- 
servation every week, and pity is the only feeling that can be 
generated, outside of disgust for the man who breeds these con- 
ditions. 

A change is coming. Hygiene and physiology are not being 
reserved for the high schools alone, but are percolating into the 
lower grades. The poisons, useful in slight portions for tonics 
or medicinal purpose, but dangerous when abused, nicotine and 
alcohol, are receiving their share of attention, so that the coming 
generation may be warned of their effects when overuse becomes 
abuse. Though prudes and hypocrites decry, the teaching of the 
sex relation must necessarily follow, for in ignorance in that re- 
spect is to be found the pitfall which engulfs so many that might 
be useful lives. 

To each of us then the burden comes home. If you have not 
thought of it before, turn your mind in that direction now. Pre- 
cept, example, steady hands, are needed every hour in this great 
cause, and for the benefits they receive therefrom and thereby, the 
men and women of tomorrow, from happy homes, blessed with 
healthy children, will utter words of thanksgiving and praise to 
those who set their feet in the right path and guarded them from 
going astray. 




169 



HIS MOST DRAMATIC UTTERANCE. 

From a Campaign Speech Delivered at an Open Air Meet- 
ing IN The Eighth Ward of Utica, October, 1903. This ' 
Statement Brought Sobs and Tears From Some of 
The Sympathetic Irish Women Listeners. 
On Election Day The Ward Gave Him The 
Largest Plurality Ever Given a 
Candidate. 

I want to say and I swear, by the name and memory of my 
dead mother, who sleeps yonder in St. Agnes' Roman Catholic 
cemetery, by all the hopes I cherish for the little five-year-old 
darling, with flaxen hair and laughing eyes of Irish blue, whose 
lips I kissed a fond farewell on leaving home this night, I never 
met or saw this person with whom they have connected my name. 
And if that be not the truth, may the Eternal God strike me dead 
where I stand. 






EXTRACT FROM SPEECH OF ACCEPTANCE WHEN 
FIRST NOMINATED FOR CITY JUDGE, 1899. 

I have never been owned or controlled by any man or clique or 
set of men. I have never worn any man's collar, and so help me 
God I never will. 

If I am elected city judge of Utica, all shall stand equal before 
that bar. Race, color, creed, sex, wealth, influence, shall not enter 
into the deliberations of that court. Political pull shall save no 
man. If he be found guilty and deserve the extreme penalty of 
the law, even though his influence stretch from Chateaugay to 
Staplelon, from Canaan Four Corners to Dunkirk, I shall not be 
swerved from performing the duty which the magistrate owes the 
community. 

* * * * ** * ♦ * 

I am one of those who believe that a magistrate should be 
merciful to the unfortunate, lenient with the young who have un- 
wittingly wandered for the first time into error's path, but 
sternly just with the scalawag, the reprobate, the hardened crim- 
inal ! 

170 



FOUR YEARS LATER, WHEN NAMED FOR THE SEC- 
OND TIME, 1903. 

How well the faith thus given has been kept, is an open record, 
within the knowledge of all. 

Criticism has been made that the room capacity of the jail has 
not been overtaxed, and that a string of officers were not kept 
busy conveying prisoners to Syracuse Penitentiary, Had such 
a course been followed, who would have had to foot the bills? 
Why, the taxpayer, of course, and has he not already borne bur- 
dens enough of that kind? Punishment has been meted out to 
every one who really deserved it, or whom it could benefit. In 
some cases it has been severe, but always intended for the com- 
mon weal. The pages of the Revised Statutes or the sections of 
the Penal Code have not always been consulted, more often it 
has been the leaves of the human heart and the chapters of com- 
mon sense. Politics, race, creed, have cut no figure. No man 
has been punished because of enmity. No one^as been permitted 
to sin with impunity because of friendship. 

What the record has been for the past four years, if the peo- 
ple ratify your choice at the polls next month, I pledge you it 
shall continue to be for the coming four years. Whatever the 
faults, follies, foibles or vagaries of the individual may have been 
during these four years, or in other years agone, the record in 
official station, whenever and wherever held has never been tar- 
nished. Nor shall it be. 

(And then again there were a couple of others, in '07 and '11.) 



171 



MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS. 

Forest Hill Cemetery, Utica, N. Y,, May 30, 1913. 

With a greater pride and a graver sadness, we gather each re- 
curring Memorial Day to pay our tribute to the deceased soldiers 
and sailors of the Civil War. The great majority of the partici- 
pants in that never-to-be-forgotten struggle have been mustered 
out by the Supreme Commander. The answers to roll call are few 
and faint. Robust manhood, with here and there a few shining 
exceptions to prove the rule, is scarcely discernible in the ranks 
of the survivors. Each year the number of graves to be decorated 
has grown larger, and as a consequence the number of those left 
to perform that offering of love and devotion is gradually dwin- 
dling away to the point of extinction. 

This is not even passing strange to us, for well we know that 
time cannot be cheated. We are standing in the shadow of the 
semi-centennial celebration of the most glorious Fourth of July 
since that first famed day when in 1776 the old Liberty Bell rang 
out its glad news to the colonists, — ^the Fourth of July, 1863. 
What a day of comfort that was to Union hearts, what wonderful 
news it was that brought them balm. The tide of rebellion was 
swept back at Gettysburg, after a three days' fight which con- 
cerned the greatest number ever gathered on a battlefield, a total 
in both armies of one hundred and fifty thousand men, — and 
these men, to tell the actual truth, to a great extent were only 
boys in their teens. And on that same day the starving garrisons 
at Vicksburg surrendered to the immortal Grant, and here too 
was a display of the magnitude of numbers, for nearly 32,000 
prisoners were taken besides many cannon and great quantities 
of small arms, said by a military authority to be "the largest cap- 
ture of men and material ever made in war," not even excepting 
the Napoleonic campaigns. 

What wonder then, with all that lapse of time, with the hard- 
ships and privations endured, with the wounds received and sick- 
nesses undergone, that the percentage of survivors is very small. 
And of them many are but awaiting the end. Their state is best 
described by the words of the poem "In Extremis," from the pen 
of our own beloved Marc Cook: 

"Never again to know 
Health's radiant v/arming glow ; 
Never again to feel 
The sinews pliant as steel 
Tempered in action's heat. 
The sweat of honest toil 

172 



Earning its respite sweet, 

But day and night, night and day. 

To watch the body's slow decay, 

And know that Death scores one in the game, 

In sunshine and shadow just the same. 

Every day, — every day." 

The events of those intervening fifty years have served to weld 
together the sections of the country in such a manner that the 
scars of the one-time separation are no longer discernible. And 
now, thank God, to show that we are a thoroughly reunited peo- 
ple, the survivors of that momentous and stupendous struggle at 
Gettysburg, the wearers of the blue and the wearers of the gray, 
are to meet and commingle as one common host, upon the fiftieth 
anniversary of the battle, upon that great battlefield, where so 
many of their comrades closed their earthly careers in July, 1863. 

We here in Utica were pleased to see such a reunion on a 
smaller scale, — when the Confederate survivors of the Fort Fish- 
er fight visited our own "boys" who had been their armed op- 
ponents in that bloody struggle, as the return of a trip made by 
the 117th Regiment to the scene of that battlefield. This blissful 
forgetting of the harshness of other days is bearing fruit to the 
land in many ways. Because after all, it was only a fight between 
brothers. In the border States, most of the families divided, and 
many today are strewing flowers above both sets of kindred, with- 
out distinction as to whether their forms were arrayed in battle 
in the blue of the North or clad in the Southern gray. And not 
alone in the border States, but throughout each section, were 
those who had kindred enlisted upon the side of the other. Sleep- 
ing peacefully in one of our own cemeteries, lie the remains of 
an uncle, who with other kinsmen, enlisted in support of the 
Union, and yet I knew of some cousins who battled upon the side 
of the Confederacy, and one of them is filling an unmarked grave 
somewhere on his last battlefield. The woes and the sorrows of 
the past are forgotten, the only remembrance today is that they 
were all kindred. 

And each side fought a good fight. And each believed that it 
was right. But today all are satisfied that from the arbitrament 
of war came a just decision. Recent researches and outcroppings 
have developed the fact that the great commander of the South- 
ern forces, Robert E. Lee, whose name will be classed in future 
history as one of the world's greatest soldiers, never believed that 
the South had a chance, in his heart opposed the war, in fact 
really thought that slavery should be abolished, and was swayed 
in his action by a wonderful love for his native State which 

173 



seemed to outweigh all other considerations. In how many other 
breasts were smothered similar sentiments, no man may at this late 
date attempt to conjecture. Lee saw what he believed to be a 
duty, and that duty he performed with disastrous results, even 
though he long before felt that the institution of chattel slavery 
must forever pass from the earth. 

And oh! the blood that was shed, and the treasure that was 
destroyed, and the homes that were blighted, before the righteous 
verdict could be entered into judgment. It was a costly arbitra- 
ment, and cruel to many, but the result achieved was worth untold 
men and money, as they are estimated in battle figuring, to the 
country, which has thereby become reunited. Chattel slavery was 
a disgrace to the earth. God had decreed that it should no longer 
have a place in a land which men called free. The cost of enter- 
ing that decree was so stupendous that it settled for a very long 
time to come the prospect of another disagreement between the 
various sections of the country, along similar lines. But the ex- 
termination of one kind of slavery did not loose the world from 
all forms of bondage. Other and older forms of slavery were in 
existence and had lived and thrived long before the enunciation 
of Lincoln's great Emancipation Proclamation. Others yet have 
grown up since the close of the great conflict of the sixties. And 
each of these must be settled by a great conflict first in the minds 
and consciences of the people, and then in the halls of legislation, 
if we would keep from other conflicts upon the battlefield. 

That sort of slavery which has sent the woman to the peniten- 
tiary, the gutter or a nameless grave in the Potter's Field, while 
hdr associate of the other sex, calmly, without pain or punish- 
ment, took his place among the elect, must cease. The victim 
must no longer be banned as an outcast, while the real culprit 
enjoys untrammeled immunity. If there is to be immunity 
granted on one side, it should be extended to both. If punish- 
ment is to be inflicted, one side alone should not suffer. 

Industrial slavery too must be ended. And by industrial slav- 
ery is not meant the mere performance of manual labor. Labor 
is healthful and necessary to us all. But the labor which cramps 
up women and children in inadequate quarters, deprives them of 
necessary ventilation, stints their food supply, makes them work 
long hours for mere pittances, this is the industrial slavery which 
must be destroyed. Dividends are necessary and useful things in 
every enterprise, but dividends which are earned from the woes 
of humanity, which are coined from human flesh and blood, from 
the lives of little ones, from the health of the future mothers of 
the race, these dividends shall in time be looked upon as being 

174 



just as unholy, just as poisonous, as were the profits of the negro 
slave mart. 

So far as America is concerned the adult male portion of the 
population has to a great extent emancipated itself from the long 
hours, unsanitary workrooms and starvation wages. Men have 
been able to do this because of increased intelligence, by reason 
of their organizations, and the ballots which they could cast, that 
served to "bend the coward's knee, and force from the lips of 
fear the lies of praise." 

These two forms of slavery which have so often proven inter- 
changeable, at least in one direction, are today the great blots 
upon the American escutcheon. And the shackles can best be 
stricken from the limbs of the women and children by destroying 
another and interlinking form of bondage. Place in the hands of 
womankind the same weapons that the men are able to employ, 
and the twin evils of white slavery and industrial bondage will 
succumb to their blows just as Savannah and Charleston suc- 
cumbed to the victorious Northern armies and fleets. In Colo- 
rado, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, Oregon, California, Washington, 
Arizona, the dykes which were sustaining that unequal suffrage 
bondage have been swept away as were the dykes of negro slavery 
at Vicksburg, Petersburg and Atlanta. And the tide is rising and 
rolling eastward, its momentum being greatly accelerated by the 
aid of the foremost labor organizations. 

A civilization has been false to itself which conferred un- 
stintedly upon a John Wilkes Booth, a Charles J. Guiteau, a Leon 
Czolgoscz, the right to secure a participation in government which 
has been denied absolutely to a Nancy Hanks, a Barbara Frietchie 
or a Clara Barton. And when that civilization shall have re- 
versed its traditions and established its base upon the grounds of 
Eternal Truth and Equal Justice, giving lavishly to each qualified 
citizen what every other enjoys, the celebrators on future patriotic 
occasions, shall give the same praise and glory to the revered 
names of Matilda Joslyn Gage, Lillie Devereux Blake, Elizabeth 
Cady Stanton, and their associates, the pioneers and forerunners 
of the abolition of sex bondage, as we now attach to the sacred 
names of Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison, Gerrit 
Smith, and their compatriots, who suffered so many ignominies 
for preaching the doctrines of the American Constitution, "that 
all men are created free and equal." And we can best judge and 
consider these problems of the future by keeping well in mind 
that many of those men whose graves we crown today with 
wreaths gave up their lives upon Southern battlefields in support 
of that everliving, never-dying principle, the equality of mankind, 

175 



from which has been drawn the warp and woof, the texture and 
fabric, that have knitted together this gigantic institution known 
as the United States of America. 

'Another slavery is now openly threatening, which has been en- 
gaged for years silently, secretly, stealthily, in the undermining 
of the fortifications of American liberty. On every hand those 
who should have opposed its progress, have been catering to those 
who have furnished and equipped the sappers and miners. "In- 
visible government," the great foe of human liberty, at last has 
been unmasked, and rather too late than too soon. Battles are 
raging strenuously, though quietly, in Nation, in State, and in 
every minor political subdivision. That great man, whose utter- 
ances resemble more closely those of Lincoln than did those of 
any other who stood between them, placed his finger on the Na- 
tion's pulse beat, felt out the Nation's heart throb when he said : 

'■' "This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of dedication. 

Here muster not the forces of party, but the forces of hu- 
. manity. Men's hearts wait upon us; men's lives hang in the 

balance; men's hopes call upon us to say what we will do. 

Who shall live up to the great trust ? Who dares fail to try ?" 

And those who would attempt to create panics and destroy cre- 
dit, because of the reduction of their enormous profits at the gen- 
eral expense to a reasonable percentage based upon actual cost, 
will find no sympathizers if they persist in adorning the gibbets 
which have been erected for financial and commercial traitors. 

And as the financial and commercial pirates of the Nation have 
been warned from Washington so must the other "interests," the 
pirates that fatten upon state and county and city benefactionSj 
who in their corporate capacities, as public service corporations, 
seek to dictate every act of government, the naming of every of- 
ficer, the disposal of every dollar gathered by taxation from the 
rich and poor alike, — so must these pirates be warned by those 
who have the strength, and driven from the trough by those who 
have the courage and determination to say and maintain that if 
this government is to endure as the same free republic, which 
our gallant soldier lads strove to uphold on so many battlefields, 
then "invisible government" must end at once and forever. 




176 



AN AFTER-DINNER SPEECH. 

Fort Plain, January 9, 1905. 

One who assumes the responsibility of after dinner speakingj 
must first have taken a course in some other hardened sinner line. 
Some have gouged the patrons of railroads by patent duplex re- 
versible freight rates, and some have played the limit upon the 
gullibility and pocket books of hotel patrons, before graduation 
into this class — and then leaped into it at a single bound. Others 
less fortunate have wiggled and wriggled their ways over devious 
and tortuous paths before being recognized as "of The System," 
while still others have arrived by the aid of press boomers — for 
a consideration, of course. 

We all deal in the same stuff, call it prattle, twaddle, guff, gab- 
ble or what you will. We are supposed to tickle your fancy as 
the caterer is employed to tickle your palate. But it is far easier 
to tickle the fancies of gentlemen who have followed through a 
number of courses, mostly of liquids, than to perform the same 
operation where the ladies of a church serve the supper. Ex- 
plosions of corks and escaping of bubbles will lead to explosions 
of laughter and escaping of general merriment, whatever be the 
atmospheric temperature, but the old oaken bucket never inspired 
what Joe Howard would call "a wild hooting continuity of tur- 
bulent hurrahdom." This merely serves to prove the truth of the 
Jekyll-Hyde theory. Each of us is possessed of a dual person- 
ality, and some are known to have a dozen, varying with the 
hour and the beverage. 

We swerve from the strenuous to the simple life and vice versa 
with scarcely a moment's notice. The man who is a major-gen- 
eral in the presence of his timid wife and brow-beaten children, 
is not even a color bearer six blocks away from home. While the 
fellow who lords it over his mates and sends a shudder down the 
back of his business servitors, creeps into the house at 1 A. M. 
with shoes in hand, and a meeker look than ever a street-crossing 
beggar could muster. The financier who would not loan you 
twenty simoleons unless your right eye were rerfioved and left 
as security, probably has forty thousand plunks of the depositors' 
good stuff floating around Wall Street where he has been trying 
to guess the market. And as for the fellow who is attempting to 
collect that bill from you, three others are dogging his footsteps 
bent upon a similar mission. 

Some change their religious and political beliefs as often or 
possibly oftener than shirts or socks. But sometimes such versa- 
tility is rather more commendable than the conservatism of the 

177 



mossback who glories in an unbroken line stretching back several 
generations or centuries with never a single swerve. The post- 
master who will not let go until his teeth give out and the editor 
who secures the pap with double somersault are no longer objects 
of derision, but "leading citizens of the community to whom we 
point with pride." 

This is the day of change — but the trouble with most of us is 
we find ours of the small variety. Ideas which half a dozen years 
ago were expressed by one man on the stump, and found vent 
from another's pen in a newspaper though couched in somewhat 
different language, were derided as "socialistic," "anarchistic," 
"inimical to our institutions ;" today uttered by a stripling arrayed 
with the other alignment are greeted by shouts of approval and 
wild huzzas from the very throats of those who so clamorously 
decried them but recently. The crowd moves with the celerity of 
the butterfly. The laws of the Medes and Persians may have 
remained fixed and immutable, but death is the only game in our 
time which can boast of holding its own without change. Some 
fellows have learned how to dodge the tax man. The rabble is 
the same today as it was "back through the vast of the clamoring 
years." Nineteen centuries have made no difference. They would 
shout today "Give us Barabbas," and the chances are in some 
sections Barabbas might even be more popular than he was of old. 

A few there are who still think Solomon the wisest of men, 
but that may be accounted for by the fact that possibly they have 
never read a line penned by the Sage of St. Johnsville, that won- 
drous man so aptly described by Byron : 

"Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow, 
Such as creation's dawn beheld thou rollest now," 

and probably some who doubt these words and rely on Solomon 
in this respect have affixed their signatures to a petition to keep 
Reed Smoot out of the United States senate. 

And speaking of Solomon and Smoot brings us down to the 
topic of woman, lovely woman — how sweetly she smiles as she 
bestows tender kisses upon her sex companion while too often the 
clawing finger nails lacerate the bare shoulder behind. But God 
bless her, no matter what she does to womankind, we of the mas- 
culine gender will forgive her so long as she keeps on loving us in 
the same old way and fails to discover our untruthfulness and 
unworthiness. We will continue to open our hearts and our 
pocketbooks to her as long as she is willing to listen to our taffy 
and our fables, to make the bread, cook the meals, tend the fur- 
nace, shovel the snow, do the washing and ironing, keep track of 

178 



the children and perform a few other trifling stunts uninteresting 
to a bachelor boarding in an hotel. 

And how the contrarieties of life do mix themselves. We at- 
tend a wedding and a funeral in the same day, and it is pretty 
hard on those of us who possess two suits of clothing to hustle 
home, make the lightning change and return in time to properly 
assist at .the other function. Some of us take the pledge and then 
cross the street to wet it. We shake our heads in sorrow at the 
downward course of Highflyer and Goodfellow, and then quaff 
a bumper that we know how to tamper with the booze in moder- 
ation, though others may be winking with a knowing eye. We 
pawn our jewelry and diamonds for a few weeks pleasure at the 
seashore or in the woods, and then hustle all winter to make good. 
If we pick up a newspaper one column will tell of that midnight 
blue-blooded revel at Philadelphia, while the deadly parallel col- 
umn gives us a glance at the woes of thousands of starving New 
England factory hands. One page tells of Christmas cheer 
throughout all the world — of earthly peate. Another recounts 
the horrors of Port Arthur. Here is a story of certain gigantic 
schemes to be put through by wonderful millionaires whose 
names stand for all that is pure and true ; and there you may get 
a tale of "Frenzied Finance" from one who knows the ropes. 

There is great trepidation at Albany because the lid is found 
to be off in some spot or other in New York, while every New 
Yorker over seven knows that the Albany lid was broken up and 
sold for old iron several years ago, and no new one was ever 
ordered. 

And yet after all we have advanced a bit from the days of the 
Stone Age. We are building hospitals, homes, orphanages, libra- 
ries. We are here and there boosting humanity's cause a little, 
and the greatest aid in this line is fraternity. The lodge is every 
day improving mankind, softening the edges, rounding the angles, 
uplifting humanity. Much is to be done, and fraternity proposes 
to do its share. Widows, orphans, stricken homes, sick and in- 
jured brothers, sorrowing families, bear willing testimony in our 
behalf that there is some good left in this old world after all. It 
is the very best world that you and I have ever lived in, and let us 
pledge ourselves to continue making it better whenever and wher- 
ever opportunity presents. 




179 ' 



"POETRY." 

Early in life he perpetrated some rhymes, several of which 
appeared in print. These are carefully guarded nowadays from 
profane eyes, but this one specimen was found in a scrap-book. 
It was published in the Elmira Telegram of November 29, 1885, 
and glorifies the exploits of a half-breed Indian leader of a rebel- 
lion in the Canadian Northwest. Father had a long line of rebel 
ancestry, and, as he admits himself, rebellion appears to have 
been so strongly imbedded in his own make-up as to crop out with 
more or less regularity against somebody or something every little 
while. He was always particularly enthusiastic about any who 
might engage in rebellion against the British monarchy. 

These may not be his best stanzas, nor even yet his worst, but, 
as the circus posters say, they constitute "the only specimen in 
captivity." 

LOUIS RIEL. 

Thou wert mad, Louis Riel, Louis Riel ; 
Still for thee, freedom's child, we can feel. 
For "mad," too, was our own "Old John Brown," 
The hero of Ossawattamie town. 

Yes, he too was murdered legally — 

The oppressed he also sought to free ; 

His band was not so large as thine ; 

Two years passed — armed millions were in line. 

And they sang, "His soul goes marching on." 
By that tune inspired they fought and won. 
Fanatic him every one termed. 
Yet in blood soon was his creed affirmed. 

Shall thy soul go marching on, as well? 
Dost thy death sound the oppressor's knell? 
Will thine own countrymen now arise 
And avenge thee, chief of the Metis? 

Craven thou may'st have been, Louis Riel, 
When upon thy doom time set his seal ; 
For mercy the Briton yet may crave, ^ 

And wish that to thee thy life he gave. 

No niche hast thou in the temple of fame. 
But the world will not soon forget thy name. 
Mayhap thy race, with gun and clanging steel, 
Will avenge thee, Louis Riel, Louis Riel. 

180 



HIS GREAT MUSICAL COMPOSITION, 
"TIT, TAT, TOE," 

Which Swept Utica by Storm, November, 1911. 




181 



EXTRACT FROM SPEECH DELIVERED AT LITTLE 
FALLS "OLD HOME WEEK." 

August 20, 1903. 

The committee which yesterday afternoon invited me to speak 
here to-day said that every participant must get along without a 
theme; that all commissions issued for the event were free and 
open. The occasion, an Old Home Week, furnishes a delightful 
fund of pleasant thoughts, on which one may dwell for a long 
time. Certainly the man who first bethought of the Old Home 
Week deserves the thanks of all humankind. It was no doubt 
his hope by this conception to have all the wanderers the world 
over to return to that haven of bliss from which they had long 
since drifted — ^home, and enjoy for a week or so that heaven 
which we all anticipate to meet us somewhere. 

I have been something of a wanderer myself. I have traversed 
considerably this great and beautiful land of ours. I have seen 
the sun rise in beauty on the Atlantic Coast, and have gazed with 
rapture on the regal splendor of a sunset in the Pacific Ocean. I 
have set foot on the snow-capped crests of the Sierras and the 
Rockies ; have gazed upon the blue waters of the Mexican Gulf, 
and have lolled at ease in the soft and sunny lands of the South 
when blizzards were raging at home ; but, with every other 
traveler to those points from our own glorious section, I am thor- 
oughly convinced that the grass grows no greener in any other 
section of the world than it does between Syracuse and 
Schenectady. 

Events such as these bring back memories of the past, and 
memory is a thousand times blessed thereby. Unpleasant inci- 
dents of the by-gone days few care to recall — they sink into 
merited oblivion; but the memories of our pleasures and enjoy- 
ments, these endure with us forever and a day. Old Home 
Week ! Ah, what pleasant memories are thus revived ! We live 
again in our childhood. Memories of the boys and girls who 
were young with us, who shared our joys and sorrows, who at- 
tended the same schools, crowd upon us, and we wonder whither 
they have gone. I look back twenty-five years and think of the 
boys then in the same class in the High School — and I am the only 
one left in my native city. The others have died or drifted to all 
parts of the country, and they, the boys, are all growing old; but 
the girls, God bless them, they never grow old. 

In your own midst, do you not wonder "Where are the boys 
and girls of yesterday" ? Think of the rich and respected families 
of the city who years ago were prominent among you — they have 

182 



disappeared, and a new generation from a new strain has taken 
their places. Some of you may remember a little bare-footed 
Irish bouchal, who had one suspender, no coat, a tattered straw 
hat and patches on his trousers. Mayhap you hear of him now 
as a business king- in one of the great commercial centers. Then 
there was the little quiet lad, who had been a Mohawk Dutchman 
for many generations, and you imagined he was going to live and 
die where his forebears had performed similar acts so peace- 
fully; but no, he is to-day a famed legislator in the far West. 
And the little freckle-faced girl with the cheap sunbonnet — what 
has become of her? She is to-day one of the society leaders in 
a great city. 

This event has brought back to your city many who could not 
have been beguiled to return for any other reason, and they are 
certainly enjoying the pleasant occasion. Many of those listening 
now, who are still young in years and spirit, will strike out into 
new fields, will find new homes ; but when you do, boys and girls, 
remember that it is well to keep in mind the old home, and your 
old friends and old associations. Don't be too busy to think 
occasionally of the home of your boyhood or girlhood, and don't 
forget to come back to spend the Old Home Week each recurring 
anniversary. Keep well in memory those sublime words written 
by that wanderer who from boyhood never knew a home, John 
Howard Payne — "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 
home." These words strike a responsive chord in every human 
breast, and only the wanderer a long while and a long way from 
home appreciates them in their truest and fullest meaning. • 



183 



OCT 9 



m 



